Last Issue
by Reptilian Muse
Summary: A reporter for a magazine goes undercover to investigate Santa Carla's vampire underworld. And finds more than he's getting paid for. Complete
1. Forward to the Editor

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lost Boys.

_Dear Mr. Kinsely,_

_I regret to inform you that this will be my last story to be published in your magazine. As well as my last letter to you. Recent events, all of which are your doing by sending me to investigate these matters, have taken a turn for the worse and I am afraid I will never see Santa Carla again. _

_And that's only if I'm lucky._

_This letter I'm sending to you has enclosed all the information, pictures, interviews and biographies of those involved. Whether you believe them or not, I'm begging you, do not publish this story. _

_Everything is real._

_The legends, the whispers in dark alleys and the hundreds upon hundreds of victims that have been claimed already by these monsters are real. Santa Carla is a haven for the undead and that's just the start of the dark and twisted path. The things I've witnessed since coming into contact with these creatures has left me questioning life and death all together. _

_The devil exists in the form of these four teenagers and the small child that they keep at their side. If you ever come across them: run. Get as far away as you can and never take to the boardwalk or the Pier late at night. If they sense you know something about them, they will hunt you down. You will never be safe and as I am finding, you will set a foot outside during the nighttime hours again. _

_**Do not publish this story. **_

_Your life may depend on it. _

_Signed,_

_Your Former Reporter,_

_James Derson._

_May god have mercy on my soul._


	2. A Raise

_Enclosed is the following investigation for the magazine Macabre Monthly: Vampires In Santa Carla_

* * *

"Dolly, you gotta be shittin' me." I chucked the tabloid article aside, watching as the new girl winced and quickly went to gather the papers back into the security of those skeletal arms.

"I'm sorry James-- Mr. Derson. I just thought, you know, a lot of people have claimed to see them. There might be something to these reports," she said, her voice barely above a mouse squeak.

"Dolly, how many times do we have to go through this. You can call me James; I'm not some arrogant prick who spends all his time drinking coffee and sitting around on his ass doing nothing but watch Jeopardy," I said, raising my voice just a little in hopes that Mr. Kinsely would hear.

The bird that sailed across the cubicles told me that he had.

I smirked. "And further more, UFO's aren't exactly horrific enough for our magazine. We want the supernatural, not the extraterrestrial. Stuff like werewolves and zombies and--"

"Vampires?" she finished.

I laughed. "Sure, vampires. Just something that doesn't have me spending all hours of the night on the hood of my car with an antenna attached to my head, trying to pick up vibrations in outer space. Got it?"

She nodded feverishly. "Right. Got it. I'll go look for something else and bring it back immediately."

I couldn't help but stare at her ass as she walked away. No wonder Kinsely had hired her on the spot.

Sighing, I leaned back carefully in my five-dollar garage sale chair, putting my feet up on a ten-dollar clearance desk and stared towards the blank type-writer at the other end. Business as usual, though we were heading into the slow season and stories were becoming harder and harder to find. At least, with those who have very little imaginations, like myself.

Though, I prefer to look at it as "honest journalism." The kind that is rarely found in tabloids and the real news itself. The kind that isn't speculation and more based on hard, uncompromising fact with enough evidence that leaves the reader doubtless to every word you write upon the page. Sue me for moral judgment, but that's not the way most people roll in this business and my methods are often being confused with simple laziness.

And I guess in some ways, they are.

But what the reader doesn't know, won't hurt them.

"Arrogant prick?"

The voice was a deep, guttural drone that often reminds a person of a bullfrog's mating call. I didn't need to glance around to see who it was, though I suspected he would tip me over in this cheap, barely balanced chair if I didn't. I was met with the hard, black eyes of a man whose life hadn't quite gone the way he'd planned, though retained a sense of good humor to laugh about it in front of the eyes of others.

I really didn't care to know what he did behind closed doors.

"I outta fire you right now," he said, taking a sip of that infamous coffee.

"And who else are you going to find willing enough to be strapped in leather restraints and proclaim themselves a 'bad boy' over your desk while you beat them with a two foot wicker stick?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

I was speaking figuratively, of course. But if it meant getting a raise…

Unfortunately, the old man only chuckled. "You're an ass, James. But your stories get the highest reviews by our _highly sophisticated _and colorful audience."

I couldn't help but feel that this flattery was somehow a ploy. Goddamn the old bastard.

He was an English man, surprisingly enough. Left London with his father during the war and came across to America where his family set up a print shop and began to make the first tabloid magazines. He's dreams had always been bigger, of course. A journalist who worked for The Wall Street Journal or Times Magazine. Obviously, he hadn't made the cut and was now the meager manager/owner of an occultist magazine that produced everything from fan fictions to the General Horror Report (number of murders in a month), to specialized stories in which investigators like myself were sent out on the field to bring the full truth on the weird and wild speculations of the public.

Legends of ghosts, black apparitions in the surroundings forests and mermaids caught up within the tides---I've seen and heard it all.

And so far, I believe in nothing.

But the things I have seen provide the readers with what they want to hear and hence, I've managed to keep my job for almost ten years.

Personal sacrifices have been made, but that's the life of a journalist; a proverbial seeker of truth. AKA Someone with no life.

"You know, she may be on to something."

"Who?"

"Dolly. About the vampires," he said, taking a delicate sip of that blackened brew.

I made a face. "Vampires aren't really my thing."

His sigh brought a burst of acrylic acid into the air. Old man's breath. "C'mon James, open up a little. I know you were scarred as a child by a black and white Dracula movie, but that's no reason to closed all together to the ideas of the undead."

"Hey!" I snapped. "I was four and it was scary as hell. You should have heard that organ playing and seen the look on the woman's face as she died. Fucking creepy as shit."

I wanted to punch him as he rolled his eyes. "Really James. An organ? Don't they play those in church?"

"Like I said, I'm a _bad boy _so I wouldn't know."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I told you when I started here that I wasn't interested in these blood-drinking freaks. Most aren't even real vampires, just people with a strange fetish for sucking up bodily fluids."

"And what if I were to offer a little compensation for your troubles?"

I could feel that black gaze grinding into the back of my head, willing me to look towards him and take the bait. The pen hooked between my fingers and I fought him for as long as I could.

"Compensation? Is that layman's terms for a raise?" I asked.

"I suppose. You've been here what… ten years now? You're very popular in our magazine and your investigating is thorough enough. I suppose I could add a zero or two to your paycheck."

He was making it very difficult to resist. But still, I had my pride to worry about and the notion that if I looked him right in the eye, he might try some kind of voodoo mind trick and get me to do the story for free. Thirty years in this business had given the man insight on some pretty fucked up things and I for one, was intent on keeping my distance.

Too bad no one could say the same for poor Dolly.

"Look James," he started, coming around my desk and catching me off-guard. "There's been a lot of rumors circling these past years. Vampires living in Santa Carla, people disappearing without a trace---the work is already done for you, all you have to do is go and collect all the information and bring it back for us to sort out. Vampires are the new fad for these kids and already there are several legends about them."

"Legends?" I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"I don't know, something about some kid that use to live in Amber Oaks trailer park who supposedly went crazy and killed both his parents, drinking their blood and becoming a vampire. Look, all I'm asking is for you to go out and do a little snooping. Interview people, get the facts and then do what you do best."

"And what's that?" I tried so hard to ignore his smile.

"Find the truth. You don't make your shit up, James. You may give it color here and there, but the basic facts are real and the readers respect that."

"And what happens if I'm suddenly caught in the cross-fire?" I asked, finally lifting my eyes up to stare into the man's own. "This isn't like digging up graves or spending five hours talking to a homeless man whose claimed he's seen Jimmy Hendrix ghost. Some of these people are seriously deranged and as much as I love having you kiss my ass, there is a serious risk involved when I go to interview them."

He seemed to think for a moment and I used the distraction to tear my eyes away.

It was no use.

"How about I add an early bonus?" he asked.

I could feel the weight of those eyes baring down all the more, forcing me to sigh and drop my pen back to the desk. The man knew how to get what he wanted, how to grope and twist people in just the right way.

"_Fine. _But I also want any damages to my vehicle, my house and possible hospital bills, paid for."

His smile voiced his victory. But he was a man of old customs and thank god we weren't in the medieval ages where promises were signed in blood. The stuff actually makes me queasy.

His method, however, was a simple handshake. "Fine… deal?"

I hesitated only once before reaching out and taking hold of those meaty, sandpaper fingers. My answer was more of a sigh.

"Deal."


	3. My Beach My Wave

I guess I'm more greedy than I thought I was.

Taking Kinsely on such a half-assed deal purely for material benefit was something I'd never truly done before. Sure there were shallow perks here and there, but I'd never sacrificed part of my soul so readily to get the big pay off I was overdue for.

But that's how things move in this small, beach community.

I guess I found solace in the fact that it took me nearly ten years to take the man up on such an offer and for a simple story on vampires. However, I was already making my first mistake as I moved through the endless crowds of beach-goers and slow-paced tourists, stopping to take a picture at every goddamn oddity that crossed their path. The sun was out and the heat was heavy, drowning the air in dampness, B.O., gasoline and dried vomit left over from the rides. No wonder the true locals of this place don't come out after nightfall.

But every good journalist knows that there's a deadline to each story, and I had a knack for using that time… unwisely.

Unsuccessful leads, hookers, video arcades and more hookers. I can't help when distraction crosses my path!

For the possibility of a raise, however, it was time to get serious. The creeps may not show themselves until dark, but there were a few parties already in action with several punks that looked as though they still lived in their parents basement, smoking pot and listening to Duran Duran on a regular basis.

It was time for the interviews.

I'll say this much about my age: I'm not as young as I use to be. Sixties be damned, I watched the fall of the American Dream: apple pie and cute plaid skirts and in the dust it created the love generation for which I was still in my juvenile years. I will never admit to how long my hair was, but long enough to hold a braid and several strings of beads should give you an idea. Thankfully, by the time I'd started discovering God in the ashes of my joints, the Seventies rolled around and introduced an entirely different realm of music, drugs and speculation.

Disco was only the start of the trends that had swiftly flourished in a pop/rock culture that was spiraling deeper into the abyss.

And now, at 1980, big hair and big style is in. And the parties just keep getting better and better.

I suppose I fit the stereotypical, undercover investigating journalist; a tacky, button down shirt with no real scheme to the blue pattern that scrawled along the sleeves, brown shorts, sandals and sunglass that say "Hey! I might be a nice guy or I might be an ax murderer! Just wait and see!"

I guess it's the hair that throws people off more than anything else. It's a clue as to both determining my age and throwing it off for another five years. Men in their thirties usually don't have shoulder-length, brown hair that still bares the signature beads and bandana wrapped around my forehead. I guess I really am stuck in the past… or I just get weirded out by barbers.

Either way, it throws the kids for a loop when I approach them across the scorching white sands along the beach. Friend, foe or someone who should be dumped in the surf. It takes them longer than a second to figure it out.

I approached the first group of beach-goers, the kind that like to hassle the tourists as they lay out like basting hams beneath the heat of the sun. I guess I'm older than I thought… the saying on the punk's shirt read "My Beach, My Wave."

My Wave?

I immediately wanted to point that it was improper use of grammar, but he and his five friends didn't look as though they'd made it past junior high.

Note: Never mistake "Fearless" for "Stupidity."

I approached the group as casually as I could muster, even going so far as to reach down and pick up a beer from their cooler, making them wait until I'd opened it and took a long draft before I spoke. My actions confused them enough to build a sense of trust---at least three of them were underage.

"So, who here believes in vampires?"

My words confused them even more. Or maybe it was the proper way I phrased things.

The kid closest to me, the one with the half-assed Mohawk that was already beginning to grow out along the sides, gave me a wiry stare. "The fuck you gettin' at?"

I took another drink before answering. "Vampires. You know, bloodsuckers? I'm a reporter and looking for information on them. Know any?"

My casual approach seemed to pay off in safety measures, but I had hit the wrong crowd. A few of the punks glanced between one another, sending confused glances while the girls stood by in their bikini's ignoring me entirely. After a few moments of hesitant silence before the leader of these rats finally shook his head.

"No man, no vampires around here."

I nodded, thankfully I at least had gotten a beer out of this useless conversation. Tossing the empty can back to the kid, I smiled. "Thanks anyway."

I didn't look around to see their reactions and kept moving along the shore. There were other groups, some of the same general trash while others were tourists or locals picking up trash that didn't speak good English.

After a good hour or two, I was beginning to loose hope. Fucking Kinsely and his fucking vampires. I was going to loose out on a raise just because the old man had a hard-on for these bloodsucking bastards and I couldn't find a single lead.

At least, not until I reached a group of high school students, playing volleyball and lying upon the sand on enormous towels. Gathering all the last rays of summer before they were forced back into their desks at school. It was hard to imagine how young they were, especially as the bikini's were getting smaller and smaller each year.

I smiled towards a pair of girls that sat watching presumably their boyfriends out in the ocean, splashing water and raising all kinds of hell with the Surf Nazi's. Staring at me through their purple-tinted shades, they giggled and smiled back.

I was in the clear.

"Sorry to bother you ladies," I said, approaching the side of their towel, closest to the blonde. "But I was curious if you would happen to know anything on the vampires here in Santa Carla."

My question seemed to throw them off-guard. The blonde's smile faded slightly and lips pursed together as though she were in thought. Her friend, the redhead, simply stared up at me as though trying to read the joke on my face. I'd hit some kind of soft spot and immediately I was searching for my proverbial knife to gouge it out entirely.

"Vampires? Why do you want to know?" the blonde asked, a serious tone in her voice.

I twisted the blade. "I'm a reporter, doing a story for a magazine and looking for leads. I take it… you ladies might know some of these creatures?"

The redhead's glasses lowered for a moment, giving me a glimpse of those soft, green eyes.

"Well… I don't know if you would call them vampires… but their definitely not the kind of people you'd want to meet alone in an alley or anything," she said.

"Oh yea? Who are they?" I asked.

The redhead shrugged. "This gang that comes down to the Pier almost every night. They ride motorcycles and are really hot---" A look was shot from her blonde friend. The redhead quickly recovered.

"I mean, not that we'd ever go for anything like that."

The blonde continued. "Yea, I mean, these guys aren't weird as in crazy or anything. But you just get this vibe when they pass you… it's hard to explain. Besides, their creepy as fuck."

"Hot as fuck too." Her friend countered. The blonde's eyes rolled.

Vampires… on motorcycles? I guess it made sense in some teenage fantasy, but I was burdened by ideas of widow's peaks, creepy castles and bat wings. I guess it was time to revamp my imagination.

Pun definitely intended.

"So… what makes you think they're vampires?" I asked.

The two girls exchanged glances, as though some sense of fear and guilt was suddenly casting over them. It was the bubbly redhead that gave the details I was waiting for.

"Well… a year back, there was this girl…"

"Joni," the blonde cut in.

"Yea! That was her name, Joni. She went to school with us, was never really popular and kinda hung out with the geeks and retards in the drama club. I mean, we didn't hate her or anything, but we definitely weren't in the same crowd."

I nodded as though I understood entirely.

"See, one night she showed up at one of our parties and actually opened her mouth and started talking to people. It was weird, I mean, this girl never says anything at school. And things were going pretty good when she started to flirt with this guy that showed up at the party. God, he was drop-dead gorgeous."

Another roll of those shaded eyes, though the redhead took no notice.

"And the fucked up thing is, he actually started flirting with her. I mean totally just laying it on her and everything. And before long, she disappeared with him on his motorcycle--"

"And never came back?" I finished.

The redhead smirked. "Oh no, she came back. And with hickies all up and down her neck and probably regions lower but we're not quite sure about that."

The blonde laughed and I managed a smile. Teen sex isn't a road I need to go down.

"Anyway," she continued, "so everyone was asking her what happened and she just casually tells us that she's going out with him now. I mean.. can you imagine that? This girl whose a complete shut-in, nerd all her life, suddenly going out with a sex god like that. It was fucked up but she managed to pull it off."

"She was a real bitch about it too," the blonde put in.

"No she wasn't."

"Yea she was, still all quiet like that but you know she was just eating up the attention. She was really asking for it."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Another look between them.

"Well.." the redhead hesitated. "I mean, it was cute at first. She was actually breaking away from those hideous pigtails and steeping skirts and all… but the more she hung out with this guy… it's like… the more she became like him. I mean, just cruel sometimes and totally acting on impulse. Like stealing and flashing the guys during gym, drugs. Shit that _I_ wouldn't even touch."

"So what happened to her?" I was getting very, very close to something.

The redhead shrugged. "I don't know. No one does… she took off with him one night and the last anyone ever saw of her was riding on the back of his motorcycle. We saw him again, but we never saw her. The investigation lasted for months but then people just seemed to forget she ever existed."

"I see… except for you two, right?"

The redhead laughed. "Well, I can't even really remember her face. All I know is that guy and his friends are to die for."


	4. Trainee

"Three dead in tragic trailer fire. Authorities and detectives dug through the charred remains to discover the bodies of Jenny Stevens and what is believed to be Paul Stevens along with a single, unidentified male corpse that looked to have been decapitated before the blaze. Investigators rule homicide but with no clear evidence towards the killer(s) the case remains closed. …Well that doesn't help us."

The paper was tossed back upon my desk, a growing impulse ever time Dolly brought something back for me to look over or possibly find a lead into this story. The fragile woman looked flustered at my actions, but days spent in this stuffy office, suffering the smell of sweat, angry journalists and a randy old man that happened to be her boss, were starting to take a toll on the woman. Hardening her from within.

"Well, it's better than nothing," she tried, gathering the seventies paper back up and looking over the articles along the front.

"I guess," I said, staring down the type-writer with something close to disgust. I hate getting the late start on stories and goddamn Kinsely for thinking that this would be a piece of cake.

Yea, kids were into vampires. Big deal. Being _into them_ as far as enjoying horror movies was one thing but actually believing that such creatures exist, let alone seeing them with one's own eyes, is entirely another. The girls I had met on the beach were the closest things I had to a true lead and their story, in some sense, was true. A year or so ago, a young girl had gone missing and shortly after the investigation was dropped, people seemed to forget about her. Her parents even moved out of state and any relations I had attempted to contact, refused to comment. Not only that, but the story about the boy who had killed both his parents, drinking their blood and burning down his own trailer seemed, in some sense, to be true.

But the problem was that there were three bodies and one was believed to be Paul, the supposed vampire kid. No one could explain the appearance of the third body and likewise, it made the story a complete fake.

"In related news, a search has been issued for Maria Gabriel, a single mother living in Amber Oaks trailer park and son, Laddie Gabriel. Both went missing the same night as the fire and though authorities believe it may have a connection to the fire, no progress has been made in locating either person…." the words trailing off from candy apple lips as bright, green eyes glanced in my direction.

It took a moment for the connection to be made. People went missing in this city every day and it was a very likely coincidence that this woman had, by fluke, been kidnapped along with her child the very same night that the fire had occurred. But there was that word in the first article… "believed."

In the journalism profession, when we are not entirely certain on something, or when the authorities give us only half the story, we learn to make up the rest on our own. "Believe" is a very useful term because it gives the audience the notion that we know what we're talking about and the most likely outcome, but at the same time, it allows us an escape route should the worst happen and our information is somehow false. Dolly, despite her newbie status at the magazine, immediately seemed to pick up on the clue as well.

"Do you think.." she started though didn't need to finish as I rose and quickly made my way for the door.

"James, wait!"

I didn't turn. I finally had it, my lead. The one thing that separated fact from fiction, vampire from a double homicide. If I could get information from the police station, possibly records of what they did find and the serious measure of doubt that Paul was even in the trailer…

"I'm coming with you!"

The words stopped me in my tracks, allowing Dolly enough time to catch up with me and put those nimble hands upon curving hips. I was suddenly, very aware of the private scheme that had been going on between her and Kinsely. All those special little tasks she had to do in his office, business or otherwise, had ultimately led up to a conversation that had given her the promotion I had to wait three years for.

I should have been furious, but the kid's lucky she's hot as hell and actually around my own age. Late twenties, another misguided youth that caught the tail end of each generation I had suffered through. Not enough to make the true cut, mind you, but I didn't doubt she had some stories under her belt.

"You're coming with me?" I had to make sure it was really what she meant.

The frailness returned for a moment, but the hardened undertone of a woman with determination began to peak through as she nodded.

"Yes… as a photographer and trainee."

The word caught me off-guard. Not so much photographer, but a trainee? Since when did this business actually _train _people to write this kind of trash?

I made sure that Kinsely was no where in sight before I spoke. "Look, I don't know what the old man promised you, but he had to beg me to get on this case. Why? Because people out there aren't your average, low-lives that swipe things out of grocery stores or gas stations. There are some sick motherfuckers out there and it's probably best if you don't accompany me on this assignment."

Her eyes seemed to narrow for a moment, a pout forming along those lips but catching itself before it got too cute and noticeable.

"Look," her tone was somewhat stiff with repressed anger. "I worked very hard to get this job and I know the kind of scum that exists out on the streets. I'm not asking to be a full partner in this story, I only wanted to learn from the best in the business."

A journalists worst enemies: Ego and Flattery.

"But if you don't want me…" she started, pausing at the appropriate moment and allowing me to stew in the guilt she created.

Damn, she was good.

"Alright," I breathed out in an exasperated sigh. "You can tag along with me, take pictures and learn how the field is played. But if anything dangerous or life-threatening should occur, don't say I didn't warn you."

I tried to ignore her smile as we walked out the door.


	5. Infromation

The Sergeant was a hefty man… and that was putting it kindly.

No wonder so much crime went on in Santa Carla. If they were putting unskilled, unfit men like this behind the gun, there was absolutely no chance that this place was going to be the same, "happy-go-lucky" family resort it had once been in the sixties. The change in times had taken a drastic toll upon the surrounding area's and what once had been a place for good ol' fashioned family frolic was now a one-way ticket to hell.

The surprising thing, however, was that people still seemed to enjoy coming here. Though I suspect the reason had deteriorated from family fun to freak show.

"So… you want information on a supposed homicide case ten years ago?"

I hated the way you could hear the spit in the back of his throat as he spoke. Each word carrying the weight of nasty, green phlegm upon it, ready to be coughed up at any moment.

I nodded. "Yea, or so authorities thought at the time. It was the Amber Oaks Burning Homicide. Or something like that."

"We'd really appreciate it. It's for research on a story for our magazine," Dolly put in, all smiles and bubblegum sweetness.

While part of me was annoyed with her very presence, I could immediately see the cop starting to fall for her "perks." I guess it was the depressing air in the office or Kinsely's constant bitching and moaning that had me distracted, but out the on the streets, I began to take notice of just how pretty Dolly really was. Older, but she could easily pass for twenty-five if she wanted to. A smooth complexion, matched with large, brown eyes and a mane of dark, auburn curls. She could be sweet as well as sinister, depending on just how the light hit those blossoming features.

The guard finally released a sigh and motioned us back. "It's suppose to be kept confidential… but the case ain't ever gonna be solved. This way."

Shuffling behind the bulk of his body, I couldn't help but catch the excited glance from Dolly; like a wolf that had just finished making it's kill. In a way, it made me smile. She was catching on far quicker than I had imagined and already learning to use what she had to her advantage.

I was proud of her.

The corridors were endless, painted in a formal blue-gray color that made the blood on the walls truly stick out along with piss, spit and whatever vileness the convicted men and women decided to leave behind. The criminals these cops did manage to catch were often sitting in the hallways, displayed like trophies with noses broken and golden teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Some didn't even have handcuffs and the extent of their entrapment was a white cord laced about their wrists, no doubt easily cut or broken if the convict had a knife somewhere on their person.

A comforting thought as we neared the doors to the filing room. I was barely aware of my hand sneaking up along Dolly's back, though thankfully she was too excited to notice.

We finally came to a stop in front of a single, wooden door with the gold lettering FILES across the front. The guard sighed heavily as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tangle of keys. Chubby fingers danced from one to the other as he tried to remember which one opened the lock across the front and no doubt the filing cabinets inside.

Within a few tense moments, the door swung open and just as I suspected, it was a small, damp and dark room with a single empty desk and wooden chair facing the musty window and a number of file cabinets lined across the back wall. Huffing as he moved, the guard led us to the third iron box, making another gallant effort to search through his keys before pulling one out, testing it, and searching again.

Five tries and the metal door swung open.

The excitement on Dolly's face grew. You can always tell a newbie from someone who has worked this corner of the Strip often enough to know what's next to come. She had high hopes (dangerously high) that we would somehow get to the bottom of this case and that the boy would truly be a vampire and we would track him down and learn all his secrets and have the best selling magazine on the face of the earth when all was said and done.

In truth, we'd probably gain the same information as we had before and this trip would be just another reminder of how pointless our jobs truly were.

But I didn't want to burst her enthusiasm or the smile upon her face.

The file was extracted from the massive stack, sifted through for a few moments before the man wheezed over to the table and set it down. Instead of a case report, we were instantly met with a mug shot of a young, skinny boy with blonde hair, bright, angry eyes and a mud-smeared face. The scowl upon his lips left no doubt of how he was feeling the moment the picture was being taken and the lettering beneath read off: Paul Stevens.

"Whose this?" I asked.

The man nodded. "Paul Stevens… one of the supposed victims in the fire."

Dolly picked up the shot and studied it closer.

"Why do you say, 'supposed?' Can't you tell by dental records who the bodies belonged to?" she asked.

The officer chuckled. "Lady, that fire was like an incinerator. They must have had close to twenty bottles of liquor in that trailer to make it burn as hot as it did. In fact, that was one of the reasons we immediately ruled it as a homicide. The fact that it spread so quickly and did so much damage had to be the work of someone who intended to make sure nothing was left."

She set the picture back down. "You still haven't answered my question, though."

The guard sighed, placing a meaty hand on his forehead and wiping away the sweat that had begun to form.

"Well, we did find some remains. No dentals but enough to where we were able to identify where bodies had been placed during the incident. One was unmistakably Jenny Stevens. The other investigators plugged away at for a few months and all they could determine was that it must have been Paul. Though… one autopsy revealed that the structure of the bones, along with the barest traces of DNA they could find, contained X chromosomes."

We both stared for a long moment, trying to understand what he was saying. Fuck, we're journalists for a supernatural magazine, not fucking head surgeons.

"Meaning, that it was a woman," the man finished.

For the second time that day, I had that feeling come again. It's not one I have very often, only when I'm close to discovering something both incredible and terrifying.

"Well… if it was a woman, isn't it obvious that Paul didn't get burned in the fire?" Dolly asked with an incredulous look.

The guard chuckled. "That was one autopsy, dear. And even then, there was still reasonable doubt. Like I said, the DNA was small, it could have come from Jenny herself or some other participant in the trailer. We don't know for sure."

I began to sift through the various forms and other pictures that were stashed with the papers. Autopsy reports, clues found along the sight, broken glass, beer bottles, weed…

"What about the third body?" I asked.

The guard shrugged. "From what we could find of it, something torn it into pieces before the fire had taken place. There were missing chunks here and there. Not anything enough to get a positive ID and no one we interviewed knew who else might have lived there."

I glanced to a picture of a charred skeleton; mouth open as though it were screaming and arms wrapped about it's body in a perverse fashion. As though the victim might have still been alive when the flames had consumed it.

"Or they might have known, they just didn't tell us."

Dolly pulled up a picture of a dark-haired woman sitting along a sloping porch. Cigarette in one hand, beer in the other with a half-smile as she gazed into the camera. I didn't notice it at first, the tiny face in the corner of the shot that belonged to a small child sitting beneath the wooden steps. It looked to be like a boy around the age of four or five, hugging a teddy bear close to his chest and looking not at all happy having his picture taken.

"Whose this?" Dolly asked, showing the picture to the guard.

The man studied it for a moment and nodded. "Maria Gabriel. Number one suspect in this case. She and her son Laddie went missing the night of the fire and road blocks were actually put up to stop them before they managed to leave the state. We never caught them. We put out warrants for her arrest, money, anything we could and nothing turned up. Eventually, it turned into a missing person's case which is also closed. The woman was a hooker and without a family to support her disappearance, it just kind of fell through."

To follow up the man's words, two posters were found near the bottom of the stack. One containing a close up of Maria's face and the other of Laddie's. The kid was, indeed, a young, fragile looking boy with large eyes and a mane of brown hair that fell disheveled around his face. He wasn't smiling in his photo.

As the guard stood, Dolly came around the desk and began to thank him feverishly for his efforts in helping us obtain this information. All while I stuck what I could in my pockets, pretending to shuffle the papers one last time and get them in the correct order for the man to put back into the file.

Hell, if the case was closed then it wasn't exactly _stealing_.

Ten years had passed and they'd already built a brand new trailer over the scorched grounds and pretended as though nothing had happened. In fact, people didn't seem to remember a fire at all.

As we left the station and neared my car, I produced the photos and information, smiling like a schoolboy who had presented his mother with an A on an exam. Dolly bounced from left to right, telling me how it was going to be the story that put their magazine on the map, how we would each get major promotions and raises. How this business would no longer be taken as a joke.

I have to admit, her enthusiasm was catching. I felt excitement at simply watching her being so excited. It was good feeling.

As we got in my car, I turned to stare at that beaming face. My own was lifting towards a smirk.

"Well, you know what we gotta do now," I started, leaving her to stare in anticipation.

"Get your camera and get down to the beach. If these stories are in any way connected, then the vampires are actually teenage punks that come out after nightfall, riding motorcycles and terrorizing college parties."


	6. Chupacabre Nipples

"So what made you decided to take this job? You don't look like the type to read tarot cards or have a human skull inside her purse."

The air had turned cool as we neared the beach at nightfall; the festivities of darkness were already underway with punks of various assortments and candy colors coming out to the Pier to simply walk around and look bored with life. Dolly seemed enthralled by it all, another sign that she was not only new to this profession, but new to the city as well. She looked up from her camera and smiled.

"How do you know I don't have a skull? Been looking through my things already?" she asked.

I could feel my face start to flush, though anger was somehow beyond me as those eyes captured my own. Set against the neon lights, the primitive fires that were set along the beach and the swelling of the ocean air that caused those long, auburn locks to drift in slow motion, she looked like a goddess.

I brushed by her question with a shrug of my shoulders. "You just don't seem like the type that would be into this sort of stuff, is all."

She laughed. "What really makes it interesting is that I was actually going to school to become a chemical engineer. Was planning to graduate and everything this last year."

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

"You were going to be a chemical engineer? And you chose _journalism?" _I asked, not knowing whether to be flattered or disgusted.

"That's exactly what my parents said… and in that same tone too. But the thing with science is, despite things being in theory, people simply take it as fact. The world is round, it orbits around the sun and nothing supernatural could ever possibly exist because either God or Evolution wouldn't stand for it," she sighed, shaking her head.

"There was no point in going into something that didn't hold any kind of thrill for me. Any kind of mystery. My entire life was suddenly standing before me, planned to the T and I realized that it wasn't what I wanted. Unless an earthquake hit or a meteor, I wasn't going to have any kind an adventure before I died."

Despite the fact that I probably would have killed to have a career in chemical engineering, I realized that in essence, she was right. The money would be great but the work would probably be repetitive and in the end, entirely useless.

What more does humanity want from this world?

"Well, you probably could have chosen a better magazine. Took me ten years to get this raise and it will take until Kinsely kills over for me to get the bastard's job," I said, smirking.

She laughed again. I couldn't help but find myself suddenly warmed to the sound; so carefree and easy… like a woman who had nothing but was still on top of the world.

"So what about you? How did you get into the supernatural?" she asked, fiddling with her camera.

The question made me flinch and hesitate. Not that I haven't heard it fifty million times before, but for some reason, I felt compelled to answer or at least, give a mildly truthful description of why I had chosen such a dark and demeaning path.

"Well, when I was a kid, I guess. My brother and I were really into ghosts and monsters, we use to stay up late while our parents were in bed and watch the Spooky Movie on our black and white t.v. I was mostly into it because he was and we always use to talk of what it would be like to create Frankston or to be a ghost… or a vampire."

I was barely aware of her eyes watching me, knowing instantly that there was more to my story than I was letting on. That Kinsely had told her how much I despised vampires and was somehow making a strange connection of the two things, but thankfully she kept her mouth shut.

"Anyway…" I shrugged lightly. ".. after high school I left my cozy house in North Dakota and came out here to Freak Central and decided that I wanted to gain a better understanding of why women pierce their nipples and sacrifice their souls over to the Chupacabre, so I went to a journalism school, got my two-year degree and have been Kinsely's bitch ever since."

She was back to toying with her camera again, trying to hide the smile on her face. "Do your parents like your choice of career?"

"I send them an issue each month, two issues during the winter."

"Why is that?"

"Because dad says the paper burns really easily. Good to start fires with so they don't have to waste a whole bunch of matches."

She gave me an astonished look and I couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm kidding… my mom actually puts them all in this special book she's keeping. Personally, I wish they did burn them. Some of that shit I wrote in the beginning is so overrated. I was pulling most of it out of my ass and local speculation."

We reached the beach and were suddenly shoved aside by a gang of rushing teenagers, hair piled high on their heads and a boom box balanced carefully on the leader's shoulder. I couldn't recognize the name or tune of the song. Dolly seemed flustered for a moment, though she gathered her wits and made sure her camera wasn't scratched before glancing in my direction, almost accusingly.

"Teenage vampires on motorcycles?" she asked with sarcasm laced along her tone.

I held up my hands (which had just been unconsciously touching her ass as she was shoved against me), "Hey, it's either that or the nipple piercing, Chupacabre-worshiping sorority girls. Take your pick."

She was the first one to break down into a smile.

I guess I really didn't have a clue as to what was going on between us. Journalism has it's perks but they're almost always shallow and without much substance. If it means getting the information for a story, we're willing to degrade ourselves down to an afternoon fuck on the balcony while a husband and three kids are out, spending the day at the zoo.

Not something I'm proud of, personally, but it comes with the job.

With Dolly, however, I felt… light. Like the stress from the day was ebbing off with every smile she cast me and even getting plowed over by pre-pubescent punks had been a blessing. I swore I would never, ever use the L-word in this type of context again… but those eyes held me in a trance.

One that was instantly broken by the sound of roaring motorcycles and a young girl screaming.

* * *

There were two of them; a tall, dark and extraordinarily handsome man of obvious Native heritage followed closely by a wily-looking blonde baring a lion's mane of curls and two sharp, angry blue eyes. Each was upon a motorcycle with brand names that were not of a very modest price and chasing a young, petite girl in a white bikini along the sands. It took a moment to truly make out her screams and sobs over the roar of those engines, though as we neared closer, it was obvious that she was terrified.

"Please! Leave me alone!" she shouted at them, falling to her knees as they circled around.

"C'mon baby, one kiss," the wily blonde said, leaning forward and puckering those lips a couple of times before rearing back in laughter.

The Native fell in sync, grinning as he gunned his engine hard and caused her to scream once more, cowering further upon the sands and trying to curl up in a fetal ball.

I caught Dolly's eyes looking at me, mouth open to say what we were both thinking, but the words were somehow lost to the wind and the roar of such a sound. I reached down and tugged at her camera, making the motion to start snapping as many pictures as she could. Even if these weren't the one's we were after, it would make an interesting side-story.

The blonde gunned forward and stopped directly in front of her, leaning down and speaking low enough that his words couldn't be made out to prying ears. People looked on in a sense of wonderment and awe, confused by the scene, but entertained as well. Kindness gets you only so far in this place, what people respond to is outright cruelty.

Dolly's camera was snapping non-stop. The blonde inched from his bike and suddenly snapped down, gripping her arm and dragging the poor girl to her feet. The Native smiled and said something, causing the girl to wither even further in that hold. I didn't know what to really expect… surely they wouldn't rape her out in front of everyone.

Then again…

The girl tried several times to pull away and on the last attempt, the blonde let her go, watching as she tumbled back into the sand. This brought a whole new series of sobs and whimpers, hands rising to cover her tear-stained face before the sudden roars of two more motorcycles immediately joined the pair upon the sands. They were kids of the same breed: an outlandish looking punk, barely seeming to reach the age of seventeen with a mop of curly blonde hair and a sinister smile, tailing behind a man…

The butterflies in my stomach were suddenly consumed by acid.

"_Yea, I mean, these guys aren't weird as in crazy or anything. But you just get this vibe when they pass you… it's hard to explain. Besides, their creepy as fuck."_

The girl's words echoed through my mind and suddenly, I realized what she was talking about. The man wasn't large, he wasn't burly or bad-tempered, but instead, held a confidence that no one his age (at least in my experience) should have. A knowing in those vibrant, crystal blue eyes and the smirk upon his face as he neared the fallen girl, bringing that bike to a halt inches away from her and opening those arms as she shot up and rushed for him. He seemed to shush her, stroking gloved hands through her hair while staring at the others with a smirk.

After a moment, she reeled back and pointed accusingly at wily blonde, shouting something that sounded like "tried to fuck me while I was sleeping!"

The kid threw up his hands, shrugging innocently and causing his leader to roll those eyes. And of course, as my luck always has it, just at that moment, he caught the sight of Dolly snapping pictures, and me committing ever inch of this encounter to memory with a pad and pencil in hand. In seconds, all four of them were staring in our direction and without hesitating, my hand shot out to grip Dolly by the arm.

"I think that's our cue to run."


	7. An Ungodly Camera

"How about this: _Teenage Vampires: The Story of Sex, Blood, and Rock'n'Roll!"_

I squinted through the dull, red lights that were cast about the cramped room. Watching the subtle movements of those hands as they moved the sensitive photo-paper around and around in the bucket of chemicals, developing each, individual paper before hanging them up on a line that was strung across. Christ, her own photo lab right in her house. There was no end to the surprises that came with this beautiful woman.

"It's catchy… a little cliché but I think it could work," I said, brushing a dark strand of hair away from my face.

The smile she returned had me stewing slowly in my seat. Perhaps it was the rush of almost being caught, or the fact that I'm a sick bastard who gets off on danger, but I was starting to wish more and more that I had been nicer to Dolly on our first meetings. Perhaps had gotten some good grace in before Kinsely and everyone else at the office trashed it with their stories of my… promiscuous deeds.

If she knew about them, she didn't show it. Instead, she kept those photos turning and turning in the bucket of flowing water, waiting for them the development to be complete and to turn on the lights and reveal her handiwork behind the lens of a camera.

"So, you're suddenly very quiet…" she said softly, turning to gaze at me once more.

I gave a shrug. "We almost got ran over by a bunch of hormonally-driven, supposed vampires. I'm still trying to keep a straight face."

We shared a moment that caused us both to crack and start laughing. It wasn't as though we were in any real danger, though for the moment, it had been exciting. The leader and his boys looking at us, knowing that we knew something we shouldn't and signaling to his punks to move forward with their bikes. They'd made it as far as the stairs that led up onto the pier, but we were already loosing them in the crowds. Ten minutes later, we watched them zoom by from the safety of the Cotton Candy dispenser and high-fived each other on being able to out-smart kids that were half our age.

Pathetic, maybe, but we were in the moment.

Thinking back, however, caused a brief shudder to rise through my spine. Like cold breath on the nap of your neck and the sudden notion that you're being watched, no matter how many times you turn to look behind you. The leader's eyes… they were unlike anything I had ever seen. Cold and dominating. Knowing a person inside and out with a single glance, able to see and manipulate each subtle strength and feed upon their weaknesses.

Eyes like that aren't just rare. They're practically non-existent save for a handful of people ever known within this world.

"Well, I think we did good for our first night out. And hopefully these pictures are light enough to see. My flash didn't go on some of them," she said, hanging the last of the prints up on the wire.

I nodded, stretching upwards and waiting for her to give the signal to switch the light back on. In these conditions, I felt like a vampire myself.

Pausing a moment as she stared at the first photo, she finally gave the motion with her fingers and in a blinding flash, the world was revealed once more. After blinking a few moments, I could immediately tell what she was staring at.

The silence was almost deafening. Each picture that had been taken revealed what appeared to be… phantoms. Everything else was clear… the girl in the white bikini, the motorcycles, the ocean and fires lighting in the background, but the kids upon the bikes looked like ghosts in some cheap, horror movie. Their bodies were see-through and blurred to the point of being unrecognizable.

I immediately suspected the worst.

"Shit, is your camera broken?"

She shot me a look. "Of course not! This… this isn't right. Everything else is clear but they're… well, look at them!"

I stared again. The two that had been on the beach before the others were the most easily identified. The Native with the shower of dark hair and the wily-looking blonde that was somehow familiar, though I couldn't imagine how. They're images weren't nearly as blurred as the other two that had come onto the scene later, including the leader who couldn't even been recognized, let alone seen.

Something was gnawing at me in the back of my mind. Something I needed to remember, but couldn't, given the fact that I was facing something very close to the truth on Vampires in Santa Carla… and that I was so physically close to Dolly once more. So close that I could feel the whispers of her breath along my cheek and a soft brush of her hand against my---

"Oh fuck.."

Her eyes shot towards my own but I was already moving out the door and back into the main portion of her modest, one-story, suburban house. Actually, it was quite cute: flowers in a windowsill garden and a white picket fence that, if one ignored the graffiti, could be a well-respected, mid-class home.

But I was far from playing real-estate as I stormed into the kitchen and to the table that we had spread all the information we'd gathered at the police station across, sifting through the forms and photos until I managed to find the mug shot of angry, young Paul.

I turned and nearly collided with Dolly who was looking more pale and startled than usual. Brushing past her I moved right back into the darkroom and held the photo up for comparison against the newly acquired shots of the punks.

I didn't know whether to be terrified or sick to my stomach.

Paul Stevens, believed to be killed in a tragic trailer fire.

_Believed._

And yet, there he was, leaning across the handlebars of his bike, leering down at a poor, helpless girl and not looking a day older from when the shot was taken in 1971.

"It's impossible…" I breathed out in a whisper.

My eyes turned to meet with Dolly's, catching the subtle hints of her own terror and awe, spread across those brown hues.

"They're really are vampires in Santa Carla."

* * *

"Look, it could be a fluke… I'm not saying it's a perfect match but what we have so far fits pretty damn well."

The cigarette almost shook in my hands as I lit it with her scented, blueberry candle. We'd gone over the photos a hundred times, putting the pictures under magnifying glasses and trying to create reasonable doubt for what we saw. The outcome was the same: either Dolly's camera was incredibly fucked up, or we had stumbled upon something major.

Something unreal.

Dolly eyed me for a moment before making a snapping motion with her fingers. Asking for a cigarette. I was taken a bit off-guard by the sudden notion, but all the more it caused a sense of warmth to invade my mind. A sense of liking for this girl that I barely knew and was already starting to fantasize about---and strangely feel guilty for it.

"There's no way I could possibly do that with my camera," she said, taking a deep drag and releasing the smoke slowly.

Sexily.

"I mean, everything else in the picture is perfectly clear, except for them. Maybe the old saying is true."

"And what's that?" I asked.

She smiled as she released another throat-full of smoke in my direction. "Vampires don't have reflections. And if they don't have reflections, capturing them on film is pretty damn difficult."

I thought about this for a moment. It was only another factor in favor of the whole vampire idea but I was still skeptical. So what if they were vampires, we also had a lead on a kid that supposedly died in a trailer fire almost ten years ago. Not to mention, a possible suspect in a girl's disappearance.

This was some seriously heavy shit.

Dolly seemed to favor the idea of them being vampires, rather than human kids with a thirst for blood and chaos. I knew it was coming, somewhere deep down, the notion was already beginning to brush against my mind, though it took my esteemed trainee to voice it.

"You know what we have to do…" she waited until she had my full attention. "We have to go undercover and get some first hand interviews and information."

I released my own throat-full of burning cyanide in a sigh.

"Dolly, as much as I want to get to the bottom of this, there's no way in hell we'll even be able to get close to them without being signaled out or beat to a bloody pulp."

I had almost forgotten the way her eyes could darken and lips could purse together in a deadly pout that could weave a sinister spell over any man attempting to deny her. I gave her an incredulous look.

"No offense, Doll, but we're old. We're older than they are and you know kids today would never be caught with people like us. We're has-beens and they're the new, vibrant generation with the best parties and fashions and drugs."

The dark look faded somewhat and I knew instantly that I had skipped over something. But what I said was true, we were old enough to be that one kid's parents!

"You really don't look in a mirror a whole lot, do you, James?" she asked.

I furrowed my brows and shrugged. "Not really much to look at."

She nodded. "See, that's where you're wrong. You have to stop hanging around Kinsely so much and act your age. Hell, you hardly even look thirty-one."

"Hey!" I snapped. "Who told you that?"

Her smile said it all and more than ever, I wanted to rush over to that old bastard's house and kick the ever-loving shit out of him.

"In any case," Dolly continued, stubbing out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray I hadn't noticed before. "We can pull this off, if you really want to. You'll have to trust me completely, but I think I know a way we can slide by without them suspecting a thing."

It's the hardest thing in journalism that they never truly teach in a college or graduate school. Sacrificing personal dignity, values and beliefs for the good of mankind and some trashy magazine.

Trust me, it's a lot harder than it looks and not always as rewarding as it seems.

Crossing my arms, however, I couldn't let her know how easily she had won me over as I made a face. "Well… what do I have to do?"


	8. Wonders of Hair Care

The woman's nails bore into my shoulder, turning my neck this way and that with brief interludes as she snipped-snapped those scissors, made a face, and snipped-snapped some more.

I felt raped.

I had hung on to my long, brown tresses of sixties glory since… well, the sixties! To see them lying in a heap upon the floor, I wanted to either break down and cry, or throttle the woman with icy-pink lips, a leopard-print mini-skirt and non-existent eyebrows. And surprisingly, that was the easy part.

I'll never know who invented hair-dye, but if I ever come across the man or woman, I'll kill them. As if the dozens of shards of tinfoil wrapped around each weren't humiliating enough, about midway through, I began to feel a rather unpleasant tingle. Before smelling burnt hair.

My "hairdresser"/guard gave me a flirty smile as she popped her gum.

"Oh, that's natural hon. It might burn for a few minutes but you're a big boy, right?" she asked, all candy and sweetness.

"Dolly, if this destroys my hair, so help me god---"

"Oh stop being such a baby! You're acting like you're being stabbed or something," she said from a corner of the room, digging through a box of assorted, teenage apparel.

Leather jackets, fingerless gloves, chains. Christ, like we were going to shoot a porn or something.

"I wish I was getting stabbed. At least then I could pass out from blood-loss instead of the smell of my hair disintegrating," I scoffed.

The bubblegum hairdresser laughed as she turned to help Dolly sort though the things. Apparently the two were comrades and the girl had closed early so that we could be alone and I wouldn't suffer total humiliation as I was strapped to this chair and my hair was taken advantage of. They'd even gone so far as to face me away from the mirror so I wouldn't see what was happening and bolt at the last minute with second thoughts. I was committed from the moment I agreed to trust Dolly, gone home and drank myself into a stupor before passing out in my Lazy Boy chair. The next thing I remember is a pounding at my door and, after going over minor details of how we would infiltrate the teenage spectrum, being whisked away in a rusted Chrysler to a beauty parlor that had the word Beauty Xed out on the sign.

As much as I tried to picture the money I was going to be receiving in my next paycheck, an image of me looking like the Tin Man from OZ kept ruining my vision. Again, I would have bolted had they not handcuffed me to the chair.

For her part, Dolly didn't need to do much to look younger, but she had declared to save her own "makeover" for later. All her attention was focused on making me look a good six or seven years younger while all my attention was on her ass and the growing fantasy of the numerous ways I could kill Kinsely and make it look like an accident.

Did he know about this?

It crossed my mind again and again that the two were somehow collaborating against me, but each time Dolly turned to smile, I was torn. Would she really go behind my back? Was she really a conniving bitch that was out to destroy me or my image, all for the sake of taking my measly place at the magazine? It seems ridiculous to some, but a journalist knows that they're greatest weakness (until they get nationally recognized) is being replaced by the newer, more efficient model.

Like in the animal kingdom, you have to fight and scrape and bare your way up to the top and once there, your battle is just beginning. Women like Dolly are an enormous threat, not simply because of their sexual appeal, but for some reason, people enjoy talking to a hot piece of action with two breasts rather than a weasely old hippie with none. But after last night's events, I couldn't bring myself to believe that Dolly was truly out to stab me in the back. There are always signs and, while my hair was being pealed away from my scalp, it wasn't enough to truly do any damage to my image.

At least not yet.

A squeal from the opposite end of the room caused a flinch in my shoulder and eyes to snap from the trance they'd been caught in, staring at the hairdresser's chest.

Innocent stare, I swear to God.

Looking further, however, I noticed the black clothing had been summed up into three piles and already the girls were beginning to sort through and pull out their favorites of just about everything. Black pants, leather jacket, sleeveless wife-beater, earrings (or at least, I was praying that they were), boots. Where all this shit had come from, I had no idea but I immediately blamed the hairdresser more so than Dolly for hooking her up with all this shit.

The crinkle of my head caused their gazes to turn back and with a pink bubble already descending from her mouth, the girl got back up and strode forward with a strange smile forming along those lips.

"I think you're really gonna like this," she said, reaching my chair. "So much virgin hair to work with, I love it!"

I tried to ignore the pops of gum between her teeth. "Well, at least one part of me is."

Her laugh rang in my ears and all too quickly, she began to pull off the shards of tinfoil.

One by one.

Thankfully, I could still feel the wet strands of hair clinging to my scalp, meaning they hadn't burned off entirely and after a thorough rinsing with rigid, razor-like nails, I knew it wasn't going anywhere. I was still not allowed to see the final outcome, even though Dolly's hand could barely leave her mouth as she gazed upon the "new do." It was either incredibly hot or incredibly horrible, though thankfully I managed to catch her smile before I was unhand-cuffed shoved into the back room with a stack of clothing to try on.

If you've ever had long hair for most of your life, then for some reason (perhaps going undercover to investigate teenage vampires--note my sarcasm) decide to cut it all off… for a few minutes, it's a very liberating experience.

My head felt light. Free. I couldn't feel the normal, heavy drag of my hair along my shoulders and I couldn't help but swish my head back and forth repeatedly, feeling the bridge of hair along the back of my neck. I'll admit, while I love long hair, it does get tiresome. Especially when you have no brush and no barber willing to give you anything but a crew cut. It can be, literally, a bad-hair-day for life.

My revelation was short-lived, however, as I stared down at the gangle of clothes they wanted me to try on.

"You've gotta be shittin' me," I snarled under my breath.

The first object of my immediate demise, was a pair of black jeans. Correction: a pair of TIGHT, black jeans. The kind that makes people with actual asses look attractive and people with none (like me) look like twigs. Sighing hard through grit teeth, I had managed to make it through the hair, now all I had to do was strut around today's fashion and my nightmare would be complete.

Call it the sixties rebel n me, I guess I'm still attached to the homemade shorts, tie-dye t-shirts and flower-power tank tops.

The jeans slid on with little resistance, though the buckle was far tighter than I expected. The next thing I was to wear was a long-sleeved, mesh shirt baring the words AC/DC across the front. What I didn't notice, before putting it on, was that the actual sleeves fit across my arms, but the damn thing wouldn't pull down all the way across my stomach. Obviously intended for showing off one's abs and I was only lucky that I'm relatively skinny and in good shape.

The final piece was the leather jacket, complete with chains hanging off the sides and a snug hold across my shoulders and stomach. Another obvious intent of baring one's own body for the public eye--goddamn kids today.

"C'mon James, you can't look that bad," the hairdresser spoke from behind the door.

With a final sigh and shrug of my shoulder, I gripped the handle of the door and pushed the thing open to reveal myself and my humility.

I didn't know what was more shocking, the fact that they were dead silent or the fact that the world hadn't blown into a million pieces after the first snip of my hair. I didn't know whether to pose or to slam the door and throw off the ensemble to save myself at least a shard of dignity.

My voice was nervous. "..Well?"

Dolly's hands were up to her mouth again, eyes going over every inch of my body while her girlfriend stood in seemingly mute shock, lips open and somewhat hungry. It was finally Dolly who took me by the hand and led me over to a full length mirror near the front.

I was suddenly met with a guy I had never seen before.

He was young, looking similar to a stylish David Bowie in his years leading slowly after the Glam Rock craze and into a more serious musical career. He had high-rising cheekbones, broad shoulders and legs that I can't recall being that full or seemingly firm. While his stomach still bared it's skinniness, it seemed more attractive in the high-cut shirt that led into a fuller chest and set of arms. The only thing that I could really recognize about him, were those eyes. The same eyes I stare at every morning before work, angry and somewhat vengeful towards the human race for all that it put him through. But too lazy to exact any sort of revenge.

Silently, I reached up and stroked a hand through those soft, blonde locks. They were cut just long enough to fall over my ears and give me bangs along the edges of my eyebrows, but cropped severely in the back.

Could this truly be me?

"So…" the hairdresser started in from the corner. "You look, so fucking hot…"

I couldn't help as the smile began to creep along my lips.

I still say that I looked thirty, but there was something irresistible in the way the leather clung to my body, as well as Dolly's hand.

Her eyes were smiling as she looked up at me. Every trace of doubt I had about her motives was instantly gone and I couldn't help as the blush started in, hot against my face.

"Still think we have no chance in hell?" she asked.

I glanced back towards the mirror, giving a final once over before nodding.

"Let's show these little fuckers how to throw a real party."


	9. Lotus

It was the moment I had been dreading: walking into the office after my miracle makeover had been given and catching the eye of every man, woman and god-forbid, Kinsely, as I made my way to my humble cubicle.

I thought of actually getting to work early, before anyone had time to gawk and stare but as usual, my lazy ass was out of bed a full hour after I was required to be at my desk, handing off my information to the editors and checking in with my beloved boss who, I swear to God, if he says one fucking word about it---

"Holy shit, is that you James?"

A sigh.

"The one and only," I said, trying to ignore the man's bemused expression along with several others that were glancing up from their cardboard cages and staring at me with wondering eyes.

Like they'd never seen a man with a new haircut, tight, jean pants and a leather jacket before.

"Well… this is interesting. Don't tell me… you're either having a midlife crisis or you've gone back to cocaine," the old man chuckled and wheezed.

I wanted so desperately to punch him. I managed a bored smile.

"You caught me."

I'll admit, there isn't much I can hold over Kinsely's head. The man was the only one in this damn state to give me a job. The only one that didn't look at me like shit caught beneath his shoe, just because I had no prior record of publishing's or skeletons in my closet. He needed an extra hand around the office and I needed money to support a few bad habits. Nothing truly spectacular about it… at least until I got good.

It was the werewolf gig. My first real story and, if you know anything about journalism, you know that your first article is very much like a first impression. You either suck or you succeed and no matter what you do after, it will forever dictate how many readers and fans will follow. It's making a name for yourself in this world and I was lucky enough to come across some very damning information on the surrounding forests of Santa Carla that put my story at the top.

But it's not enough to have good sources, it's the attitude of the writing as well. Any idiot can be a good writer, but without voice or passion, it means nothing.

Rule of Thumb: Passion is what the audience loves.

So, in a way, while most times I wanted to shove this man off a cliff, I guess I was grateful enough not to take that murderous step. And to smile as I leaned back in my chair, enjoying his sudden confusion.

"No, seriously James, what's with the new look?"

I smirked. "You know that legend about the kid that went crazy, killed his parents and drank their blood?"

His brow furrowed for a moment, recalling the jarb of loosely defined information he'd given while putting me on this story. "Yea? So?"

"So…" I said, leaning forward. "It's real."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

I pulled out the file of stolen information from the police station, tossing it on the desk.

"Paul Stevens, believed to be a victim in an arsenal homicide committed by the luscious Maria Gabriel. His mother's body was confirmed but they were never actually able to tell if the second was his or not. Or even the third for that matter, it was torn into pieces and scattered across the room before the blaze got to it…" 

The old man's eyes were locked to my own. Note: if you're going to outright challenge your boss, make absolutely sure you can back up every claim you make. This can cost you your job.

"… As for Maria, roadblocks were put up, highways shut down, a full scale search was made and no one ever managed to find either her or her son. What's surprising is, she didn't even have a car. She was a hooker and they could really find no motive for the crime other than she and Paul had some kind of chemical history between them."

I moved for the file and dug out the pictures, the mug shots and the newly acquired photos taken just a few nights before. Setting them all side-by-side.

"See any kind of resemblance?"

I gave the man credit for hiding his surprise and excitement, though I could easily tell as he gripped that dirty, Styrofoam coffee cup just a little bit tighter and licked those hungry lips. Like the Big Bad Wolf. For all his crudeness, he really is a man of this business and can smell a lead from a mile away.

Those dark eyes glanced up and shot directly into my own.

"This is good James… this is very good," he said, trying to hide his enthusiasm.

I nodded. "You can thank Dolly for the photos. … and for this--" I motioned to my current appearance.

His brow furrowed once more in confusion.

"It's a stake-out, if you'll ignore the pun. We're going down to the beach tonight to find them and try to gain more information. Dolly thought it would be a good idea if we… disguised ourselves, I guess. Or she just thought I needed a haircut."

He chuckled. "Well, I must say, it does suit you, James. You really do look younger, in a way. I just hope you realize that, if this boy is who you think he is, then his friends are probably ten times worse."

"Are you trying to tell me to be careful?" I couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea.

"No, I'm telling you not to get yourself, or Dolly, killed."

I wanted to tell him that she was the one who had instigated the entire plan… but I couldn't help but feel suddenly protective of her. I didn't want the old bastard to think of her as a bad or dangerous person. Or as a good person, either.

Actually, I just didn't want him thinking about her, period.

Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?

"Why are these photos so blurry?" he asked, squinting as he held one up to the light.

I gave a helpless shrug. "Vampires. They can't see themselves in mirrors, right? Maybe the same applies for pictures, as well."

I could tell he didn't have a smartass comment to throw back at me. Like Dolly had said, there was no way, with her camera, that she could possibly obtain such an outcome. It was just… impossible.

The photo was set down and an expression of seriousness fell across that face. He knew we were falling in, deep.

"James, I---"

"Hi, sorry I'm late."

The voice startled us, causing the old man to flinch and my legs to spring off my desk, nearly sending me tumbling from my cheap, second-hand chair. The woman that stood before us was a shadow of the Dolly we had both known.

Her hair had undergone a deepening of that auburn color and was pinned up, allowing only a few stray strands of hair to collect upon those rising cheekbones. I can't quite recall if she had ever worn makeup before, but if she had, it was certainly nothing like this. Dark eye-shadow in deep tones of red was matched with black eyeliner and blood red lipstick. But that wasn't all…

I do remember, her first day on the job, she had worn a very consecutive, very restricting black suit, complete with pinstripes and a ridiculous green tie. Very professional, but she soon learned how incredibly unprofessional her colleagues were and, instead of keeping to the "black sheep" masquerade, she too began to dress in frumpy flower ensembles or things that looked to have been smuggled away from Elvis' garage sale.

And while I admit, my tacky shirts and cargo shorts didn't help the matter any, I wasn't about to be seen in half the outfits my esteemed co-workers called "clothing."

Though now, I was ready to fall to my knees and thank whatever God existed in heaven for the vision that stood before me in a hot, mesh shirt that would have exposed everything but was hindered by a black corset stretching across her front. The outfit continued down into sexy, black jeans and high-rising ankle boots, the kind that seemed trashy until you saw them on a woman like this.

And while I had buckled under the stares that came from every angle upon the street and across this room, Dolly seemed entirely natural in this state. A woman of elegance, but with a dark and dangerous side that spoke from those soft, brown eyes.

Kinsely almost spilled his coffee all over the floor.

"Were you two… going over the story?" she prompted, snapping us back to the moment at hand.

The old man nodded, carefully setting his cup down on my desk, tempting me to shove it off with my typewriter, onto the floor.

"Yes… James actually just told me that you two plan to… infiltrate this dark, teen underworld?" he asked.

Dark, teen underworld? All I really wanted were some more photos and information on the pending murder case, but the old bastard was acting as though they might actually be vampires. I tried not to stare at her cleavage as she nodded.

"Yes, we're planning to go back to the boardwalk tonight and see if we can't find them again and get some information. I've actually got a miniature tape recorder that I can hopefully get some good stories on."

I could see the barest hints of jealousy in those black, hardened eyes as the old man glanced back to me and nodded. "Sounds like she has a plan."

He turned back to her, however, and set a hand on that slender shoulder. Beneath the desk, the pencil I had been fondling suddenly snapped in half.

"Now, Dolly, I want you to be careful," he said, all concern and grandfatherly love. "Kids like these, if they are who they say they are, can be serious trouble. If you need any help at all, please… give me call. Or at least make sure you can run faster than James."

I set the broken pencil down upon my desk and smiled. "Ha ha."

Standing, I squared my shoulders and made my way to stand at Dolly's side. Glancing up at me, she smiled and gave the old man a wink.

"Are you kidding me, Kinsely?" she asked.

"They won't be able to resist."


	10. Bump in the Night

The smell of blood was in the air.

Figuratively, that is. We hadn't gotten that far into our journey, yet.

Despite all the shit I received at work, I was actually starting to enjoy the glances I got from across the boardwalk; everything from the disrobing eyes of every woman that crossed our path, to the smirks and challenges of the boys in drag and this new surf-culture craze. Not that I was going to fight any of them… hopefully.

I was only a shadow, however, compared to Dolly. Everything from the way she moved to the bat of those darkened lashes caused people to trip over themselves and one dude on the railing to spill his drink on the heads of all those below on the beach. I couldn't believe this was the woman that had walked in with such insecurity. But then again.. I hadn't really known her all that well from the beginning.

That too, was starting to change.

Another rule of journalism: the story comes first and personal matters (unless they can not be avoided) come later.

So far we had stomped this notion into the sand as we walked along, talking and forgetting entirely the world around us. The story we were suppose to be working on and the kids that gawked as we passed by.

"No, seriously.." she laughed, hooking an arm around my chest for support. "You just ran, bare ass out into the streets and right into him?"

I grinned and nodded. "Thank god he was homophobic too. All I had to do was smile and he bolted into the house."

She laughed harder. Who would have thought one of my most demeaning stories from the past could be funny? Not to mention, true. I was cleaning pools in Hollywood before I came here. AKA sleeping with a lot of desperate, lonely housewives on prescription medication that they took with shots of Champaign and white wine. Many, many happy times. But unfortunately, the one time I chose to skinny dip with a woman who was, by all accounts, pornographically perfect, her body-building husband came home and to avoid a broken neck, I bolted naked over the fence (forgetting my clothes entirely) and right into the man as he was crossing the yard to check the mail.

Thank god the bastard was uptight, crackweed of a man. All I had to do was glance him up and down, waggle my eyebrows and smile. I was fired… but he wasn't about to punch a naked guy who had sized him up like a pack of delicately sliced lunchmeat.

Who knows, I might have started humping his leg.

Her arm tightened and I smiled. We had agreed before hand that probably the best way to keep each other safe was to act like we were a couple. I had to admit, I was enjoying that part a little more than necessary and couldn't help but feel she almost was too.

Fuck, remember it's just for the story, just for the fucking stor--

"Shit, it's almost twelve."

The laughter had stopped and Dolly had glanced down at her watch, taking in the time and wincing. I winced as well.

"Are you serious?" I asked. "Fuck, we'd better get serious."

She nodded and released my side. Somewhere in heaven, an angel spit on me.

"Look, I know it wasn't in our plan, but maybe we should split up and look on opposite ends of the boardwalk. Pretend we're looking for each other until we find them," she said, giving me a pleading glance.

I didn't like it. Too many things could happen to a woman this beautiful. But as much as it kills my karma to say it, I couldn't let her know just yet, how deeply I was starting to care about her. How fantasies were starting to spring up (literally, mind you) at the most awkward and inviting moments. Call me a chauvinistic bastard, but I've been down that road too many times. In fact, you walk it, you'll probably stumble on the broken pieces of my heart.

"All right, but no more than an hour," I agreed.

She nodded and with a lingering glance, took off in the opposite direction.

My gut was screaming at me, something bad was about to happen. But I turned away and pretended it was the Chinese food we had eaten before coming here.

* * *

The wind picked up the moment she set foot on the man portion of the Pier. Kids all ages, sizes and hair-dyes streamed past in a chaotic shamble, laughing and cursing at each other while tourists and parents gawked at them in silent horror. It was everything she had wanted in her own childhood. Everything she had dreamed about as she sat at her desk in a cramped little room, typing up reports for school and listening to the sounds of their happiness flutter by.

She'd always been a good girl; a good student. Someone dedicated to her family because she had no choice until she was eighteen. Even then, they continued to pressure her and push, calling constantly while she was in college and making sure she stayed away from those disco, acid-inducing parties. God forbid if she didn't answer the phone, they would call the RA (Residential Assistant) and demand to know where she was.

It was all her life had ever been, one long stretch of study, memorization and smiling at teachers as she chalked up those A's, one after the other. She was already an honor student her freshman year in college and stayed that way all up until graduation, before the roof fell through.

And it had never felt so good.

Freed from parents (as they refused to talk to her until she went back and finished getting her Masters) and free from societies ideals of what a decent, hard-working woman should be. Either that, or a housewife with five kids and a husband who worked a nine-to-five job.

No, she was a journalist. Or… a journalist in training.

Someone who people often times looked down upon and treated like shit, though who couldn't get enough of if their stories were anything like James'. The man hid his ego well with cynicism, but it was slowly starting to crack as they spent more and more time together.

Another exciting aspect of the job.

Her face blushed, thinking about the man and to hide it, she began to dig around in the snakeskin purse at her side, rummaging for a much needed cigarette. She couldn't quite tell if James was a smoker or not. If he could even tolerate smokers or thought it was sexy for a woman to do so. He had the personality… but it seemed his ego wasn't the only thing hiding behind those deceiving, gray eyes.

The white cylinder was balanced delicately in those lips as fingers tweezed and flicked the lighter, sparking a bright, yellow flame. The people of this town were constantly on the move and even the slightest slowing in pace caused a number of insults and a brief shove that had her stumbling against a large billboard.

A disgusted look was passed to the pretentious preteens with green Mohawks. One of them made a crude gesture and she rolled her eyes. It came with the clothing she wore, so it was no big deal. Instead, she turned her back and took a moment to examine the board she had slammed against in the scuffle.

Instead of an overly large, obnoxious advertisement, it was covered in dozens upon dozens of missing person posters. Men and women, boys and girls of all ages in single, black and white photos stared out at her with hollow eyes. Some of their mouths were parted in the shots… there was a boy of five sitting in a chair, laughing as a puppy licked at his face. His name was Devin.

A young, petite girl lounging on a beach chair with a giggling smile watched Dolly as she moved, blowing smoke over each face and quickly turning away. The name beneath that one was scratched away.

Christ… so much crime in such a little town. And apparently, the police force wasn't doing shit to prevent it either. Then again… if there weren't so much chaos, there probably wouldn't be a magazine. And without this magazine, she would be jobless, homeless and living beneath the pier during the daylight hours before the tide came up and washed away all those who were still sleeping.

The crowds seemed to thin as she reached a more humble area of the boardwalk, lined with shops of various assortments. Restaurants, knick-knacks, t-shirts, movies…

A pause.

It took a moment to see through the neon lit glass, lined with movie posters and memorabilia from the recent hits; but one thing about the pictures of Paul that stood out more than anything else was the kid's hair. It wasn't a perm, that was for sure. Rather, the kid slicked his fingers through it each day and called it good. A wild mess of dirty blonde locks that spanned across his back and along those shoulders. She could have sworn that half of them were dreadlocks.

What was most surprising, however, in the photos he seemed to make it work.

But it was the sight of that same hair that caught her attention, brisling wildly along the kid's back as he paced around the store before leaping up on to a counter and sitting like a kid with his feet dangling over the edge.

Jackpot.

The cigarette was flicked to the ground and after a mild reflection test in the glass, she made her way inside.

Despite being so secretive, James had given a few subtle clues as to good journalism while undercover.

_Never let them think that you have even the slightest idea that you know who they are._

The jingle of bells rang as she entered fully into the store, clutching her purse and pushing down the butterflies that fluttered through her chest and stomach. She could already feel eyes upon her, but ignored them entirely as she stepped further into the area.

She hadn't been wrong about the movies. Shelves were lined with tapes. Everything from recent Hollywood fiasco's to the classics that sat further, dustier, in the back. Westerns, Drama, Action, Horror…

"Hello, can I help you find something?"

The voice was soft-spoken, but it caused her to jump, anyway. Silently cursing herself, she turned fully to face the man that stood behind the counter, smiling in that same, gentle manner though passing exasperated looks to Paul who sat, now staring fully at her.

He was older than she expected. The pictures had been blurry and the finer details of his face had been washed away. In his mug shots, he looked about sixteen but apparently, he had aged at least a little in those ten years that passed since the burning. Sharp features were drawn out in pale flesh; high-cheekbones, a somewhat narrow nose and pouting lips. He was the kind of guy who could get any girl he wanted, and from the look in those eyes, he was aware of such, as well.

Had she still been in high school, she might have swooned. As the second man approached, however, she actually did.

Where Paul had a handsome, if not outlandish appeal, this boy was quite literally drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, dark and extraordinarily handsome with showering black locks that fell to his shoulders and a sense of brooding in those darkened eyes. He appeared extremely bored with their surroundings… at least, until he caught a glimpse of Dolly, herself. The smile that found his lips made her want to melt, but at the same time, he too, was barely above that legal age and otherwise off-limits for a woman of her advanced "knowing."

Not to mention… she couldn't help but suddenly think of James.

These boys may be beautiful, but they didn't hold the same charm as her partner. Not to mention the fact that they were quite possibly blood-thirsty vampires.

They were certainly pale enough to fit the title.

Eyes instantly snapped back to the man before her. The only, seemingly normal person in this trio, though he too, was pale.

"I'm sorry," she smiled, shaking her head. "Too much caffeine."

He smiled back. "Ah, I know the feeling. Gotta keep going somehow."

She nodded. "Yea, anyway, I was wondering if you had anything with vampires. I'm looking for a good scare."

All right, a little obvious but at least she had their attention. The blonde's head perked up for the second time since she was in the store and the cash register he'd been fooling with, while the man had his back turned, was seemingly forgotten. The dark-haired kid smiled again.

The man nodded, the smile suddenly gone. "I see. Well, let me go check the back here for anything recent…" a sudden turn towards the two boys behind him. ".. and when I get back, I want you both gone."

The smirk on Paul's face faded slightly and with a roll of those shoulders, he started for the door. "Buzz kill," muttered under his breath.

The dark-haired man didn't respond at all, save for a roll of those dark eyes before they met her own once more. The smile that formed almost made her shudder.

The man turned back and made an airy gesture. "Punks. Can't find anything better to do than harass the locals around here. If you'll give me a minute, I think I can find you a movie."

She nodded, pretending to know exactly what he was talking about. Inside, however, she groaned.

Damnit, their story was slipping away out onto the streets. But to leave now might arouse suspicion and besides, she didn't want to seem desperate. Or a stalker. Either way, she knew James would be pissed if they came up empty handed. This was his story after all… she was merely a tag-a-long.

"Here you go, this one is a little older but it's gotten some very good reviews."

His voice startled her a second time. He was back so quickly that she barely had a moment to blink before coming face to face with those glasses and the small, quirky smile.

A hand came up to that chest. "Sorry.. I'm just really jumpy from the caffeine."

Purse was set up on the counter as she rummaged once again, sifting through the disorganized clutter until she managed to find a dollar and five cents. The man accepted her money with a nod before handing over the movie and nodding.

"There you are. Enjoy."

She was all the way out the door before she managed to look at the title.

_Countess Dracula._

Randy bastard.

The movie was shoved into her bag with a sigh. Well, at least they had something to study from now. Cigarettes were reached for again and pulling free a fresh stick, the lighter was scavenged for when suddenly---

_Snick._

The yellow flame danced in front of her face, causing her to reel back and stare up at the form standing before her. The dark-haired kid, brooding eyes and all, smiling at her as he held out her lighter, waiting for her to take the bait.

She stepped back. "I should call the cops on you right now."

"Now what fun would that be?" he countered, his voice holding a husky accent that was definitely not found in California.

At his side appeared Paul, smirking as he grazed her with that deafening stare.

"Vampires, huh?" he asked.

"What's it to you?" she took another step back.

He shrugged. "Just seems that a woman like you would be more interested in werewolves, is all."

The comment was so random that she couldn't help but break down into a smile. Leaning forward, the tip of the cigarette would finally meet it's mark and the dark-haired kid smiled.

"Dwayne," he said. "And this is Paul."

She nodded, making them wait until she took a much needed drag. "Dolorus. But my friends call me Dolly."

Smoke was released in a thin stream towards the pair before a dark eyebrow rose.

"Are you going to give me back my lighter?" she asked.

Dwayne grinned and tucked it into his pocket. "Maybe later."


	11. Mr Bowie

The air cooled drastically as I approached the edge of the beach, stopping for a moment to gaze out at the black waves rolling smoothly along the shore. I had searched every inch of the boardwalk for Paul and his cronies and, as usual, came up empty-handed. I hadn't come across Dolly either and sensation in my gut exploded into a tangled web of fear and… strangely, guilt. If she was found dead in a dumpster, I was to blame. I should have turned her away the second she wanted in on this damn story and told her to go hunt for lawn gnomes.

The cigarette shook between my fingers as I took another hungry hit.

What the hell had I been thinking?!

"James!"

The voice immediately caused a sense of relief to flow through my body, though it was cut short as I turned and saw Dolly approaching with two teenagers in tow.

Scratch that, with Paul and the dark-haired kid we'd seen riding at his side, helping to chase the poor, helpless girl along the beach. For some reason, I had expected them to be younger. Teenage punks who would take one look at us, scoff and turn the other cheek before we could get an interview in or some damning photos of their clubhouse. But these weren't the preteens wannabe's in my imagination, these guys looked as though they could be murderers.

Without hesitation, Dolly strode forward and immediately placed herself into the slump of my shoulder, wrapping that elegant arm around my waist and pulling me close, almost protectively.

"See?" she said almost teasingly. "I told you I had a boyfriend."

I have to admit, in the face of danger and all things considered, it felt good to hear her say that, even if it was all part of the "act." Especially upon coming face to face with the pair that had tailed behind her like slobbering puppies: a lengthy, blonde-haired kid with sharp features and those same, angry eyes from the mug shots and Mr. Tall, Dark and Give Me A Reason To Kick Your Ass And I Will. He was the kind of guy that I could see women fantasizing about and thinking that, I couldn't help but feel a sudden tinge of jealousy erupt in the pit of my stomach.

Not that a guy like me ever admits that he's worried over petty rivalry, though I made it all the more apparent that we were together by allowing that arm to drape along those nearly-bare shoulders.

I managed a smirk.

"Whose your friends, Doll?" I asked.

She leaned forward a bit and pointed. "Let's see…. Paul, right? And that's Dwayne, the guy that's been hitting on me this entire time that I've been trying to find you."

I really wish she would have stopped at just their names. Don't get me wrong, I've been in a fight here and there in the past, but that's only when you can't talk and/or run your way out of it. The kid smirked, seeming to realize this fact and place the challenge more out into the open. I played it cool.

"Oh yea?" I blew out smoke towards his face, half-hoping that he was a non-smoker.

Those eyes seemed to sharpen against my own and again, I felt both a strange sense of jealousy… and fear.

"Pretty woman you got there," was all he said.

"Pretty damn fine," Paul countered, with a laugh.

Dolly raised one of those dark eyebrows in a hint of amusement and flattery, while I simply stared. Avoiding a fight for as long as I could while still hopefully giving off the image of "I may have a gun or knife on my person and will not hesitate to whip it out like a mad-man and start shanking you bastards all to hell." Unfortunately, in the male-dominated world, that's the way you gain respect.

"James," I said, in reference to myself. I didn't extend my hand to shake.

For the moment, it seemed to satisfy them. At least until Paul stepped forward, snapping his fingers.

"I got it!" he exclaimed. "You look like David Bowie! You know, after all that glam shit and when his music started getting good."

Despite the tense air around us, I couldn't help but laugh. "Yea man, couldn't stand his early music. Too many drugs and Ziggy Stardust."

Actually, I was rather fond of his early music, but if it meant winning over some kind of trust with this kid, I was willing to risk being struck by rainbow lasers from Bowie spaceship. Paul smiled and suddenly made a snapping motion with his fingers.

"Dude, can I bum one?"

Another good sign, though I had to release Dolly in order to fish the packet out from the pocket in my pants. Hopefully they didn't notice the struggle of a man who never wore anything this tight in his entire life.

I managed to pull out an uncrushed cylinder and handed it off towards the kid with my lighter.

"Sweet," he said, pushing the orange butt between pale lips and lighting it.

The smoke added another comfort to the air, but Dwayne's gaze was still etching into my forehead. I was getting the feeling he was more of the "strong, homicidal silence" type.

"So what are two planning on doing tonight?" Paul asked with a more pointed stare towards Dolly.

She gave a shrug and smiled. "We were gonna go back to my place and watch a movie, but maybe we'll stick around if there's anything good happening."

Good approach: interested yet not seeming as though we knew anything about them. Or really even wanted to be seen with these kids.

Paul's eyebrows raised. "Oh yea? You said you liked good scares, right?"

I glanced towards Dolly as she nodded.

He grinned. "Me and Dwayne know of a pretty fucked up place. It's just past the pier and through the forest, near Hudson's Bluff."

It sounded like a trap. You don't spend ten years in this business and not begin to have a sixth sense about these kind of set-ups. Even coming from a kid who supposedly died in a trailer after hacking up his parents and drinking their blood. Damnit, I wanted this story but I wanted to get the information on neutral ground. In full view of several witnesses and boardwalk patrol.

At least then they could identify the bodies.

"I don't know.." I said, bringing my arm around Dolly's form once more and pulling her back.

"Yea," she agreed. "It's kinda late for a hike, isn't it?"

"Oh c'mon," Paul said, stepping closer. "It's not _that _scary."

"Yea," Dwayne grinned. "You can bring your boyfriend, too."

I never felt such an urge to rush at another guy and beat the living shit out of him, as I did at that moment. It was another challenge, another snap at my pride through I managed to hold my rage in check. Unfortunately for Dwayne, I had the trump card hiding up my sleeve.

I glanced down at Dolly. "Eh.. I really don't feel like it. How about you, babe?"

She seemed to catch on; if we kept them wanting, they'd come back for more later on. And besides, it really was too late for a humble hike in a shadowed forest with two kids that were supposed vampires.

"Not really," She grinned, giving a pout back to Dwayne. "Sorry."

Feeling a sense of relief, I began to turn back towards the pier when the sudden clasp of a hand on my shoulder nearly had me reeling. My body tensed, expecting to be hit or thrown into the surf. Those dark, brown eyes stared directly into my own, causing a sudden series of shivers to ache along my spine.

"No really, you should come with us and check it out," Dwayne said. "It'll be worth it."

"Yea," Paul continued, coming around from the side and focusing directly upon Dolly. "You won't regret it, _babe."_

I knew something was wrong. My mind screamed at me to push the guy away and take off at full speed for the boardwalk, but strangely, I couldn't seem to feel my feet. The air around us became almost foggy and disjointed. I felt as though I'd somehow fallen back into 1967, stealing away in my room with Led Zeppelin turned up high on my record player and a joint seized between my nervous fingers. A kind of high that you can't quite explain, because the mind doesn't have enough neuron's left to find the right adjectives.

All I remember next was nodding and saying, "Okay, why not?"


	12. No Sissy Bar

It was a moments after realizing what we had just agreed to that I knew we were fucked. That these punks were probably going to lead us out into the woods to find some scary house and, when all seemed to be going smoothly, they would rip off their sexy masks and reveal the monsters that they truly were. It didn't help that I actually wrote for a horror magazine and studied up on every myth, legend and teen fantasy that happened around this place. Needless to say, there's a lot of sick people in this world just waiting for the opportunity to strike.

What the hell were we thinking?

I tried to send my signals to Dolly but her back was already turned as she made her way with Dwayne up to his bike, commenting on how fast it looked and, whether or not she knew it, stroking that kid's already hardening ego. Again, I never felt such a rush of jealousy in my life and as much as I tried to mask it, a single glance from Paul had the kid grinning wolfishly in my direction.

"Don't worry man, Dwayne's just got this thing of chicks like her. Total physical attraction," he said.

"Is that suppose to make me feel better or worse?" I asked, making a face.

Paul shrugged. "Neither. Just think of him as Ziggy."

Despite all the damning information we had on this kid, the fact that he might very well be a serial killer who prefers to decapitate and drink his victims blood before burning them into a crisp, the kid was starting to grow on me. He had the same kind of mindset as I did at his age, worming my way through the seventies in bellbottoms and deranged, multi-colored shirts. Had he been born a decade earlier, we probably would have been friends.

Watching Dolly "saddle up" on Dwayne's bike, it took a moment to realize that the same fate was to befall me as well. It isn't all that common to see two men sitting on the same motorcycle. Santa Carla: large enough to be a city of freaks, yet small enough to still burn homosexuals at the stake.

Paul seemed to be thinking the same as he gave a withered look in my direction before nodding. "Okay, get on."

I'll admit this much, when I was Paul's age, I would have killed to have half the bike that I was currently attempting to sit upon and find some sense of balance. In my day, if a kid had even a moped he was considered cool but this… this was a smaller, more accurate version of a Harley Davidson, complete with leather seats, black chrome finish and, from what I could guess, custom wheels. While it was narrow for someone like me, it seemed the perfect size and shape for this kid to wheel around the boardwalk, dodging tourists and causing all kinds of mayhem left and right. It's shape was also flexible, allowing it to lean and work easily around tight corners. A true prize that I could image had cost a small fortune.

Though where Paul had gotten the money was left to my imagination as I finally managed to find some kind of balance without directly placing my hands on his hips. Again, it's a strange town but the wrong idea can get people talking and Kinsely was already all over my ass for the sudden change in appearance. Then again, if the old man were to see me now, it might force him into a stroke from fits of hysterical laughter.

"Um… you might want to hang on," Paul said, taking a moment to start the bike and rev the engine a few times before---

"JESUS CHRIST!"

My yell was lost to the sudden wind around us as the black beast shot forward along the planks of the boardwalk and my hands found their way around the punk's skinny waist. I should have guessed that this ride would be hazardous to my health, but as before, the image change seemed to have done a lot for my confidence. In fact, I'd actually started to feel younger as I stood out on the beach, accepting Dwayne's challenge and standing my ground with a beautiful woman at my side. It was a taste of the life I never truly had as a teenager and I had started to enjoy the feeling.

A feeling that was now a sudden, stinging rush.

The bike jolted forward through the crowds, following closely behind Dwayne's where I caught flashes of Dolly, stray hairs clinging to her gasping face while hands worked their way up that solid, leather-bound chest. Holding tight lest she fell off from the back.

A flash of heat that caused my fists to clench, though immediately forgotten as we cut through a crowd of senior citizens crossing the street, nearly toppling an older woman with stark, white hair and a metal walker. Paul laughed as she cried out and tumbled in to the man next to her who, thankfully, didn't fall to the ground. It was only moments later that I noticed the strange, cream-colored bag handing from his arm.

The woman's purse!

Without glancing back, he tossed the bag to me and yelled, "See if there's anything good."

In a way, I was mortified, though I knew I should have expected something along these lines. From the show I had seen on the beach with the girl in the white bikini, I should have expected him to run the poor woman over. And then steal her purse.

With numb fingers, I managed to unzip the bag with one hand and dump the contents out upon my lap, most spilling to the sides and out on the street. Social security cards, lipstick, a picture of some chubby-faced grandchild. I felt like a murderer.

"I don't think she has anything, Paul," I shouted, letting the rest of the contents spill out and dropping the bag as we reached the beach.

He seemed to nod, though it was hard to tell with the mass of wild, blonde hair blowing sharply in my face. The stinging wisps hit my eyes, causing them to tear slightly and blind me from the sudden realization that we were about to take to the stairs.

Again, I was never given a bike as a teenager. Even a moped and so the actual stunts that could be performed were beyond me as the jarring forced my arms to cling to Paul's chest, almost as though I expected to go flying from the back of his seat.

I could feel the scowl etching up on his lips as body tensed and tried to shrug me off. "Dude, just fucking relax. We haven't even got to the dangerous part, yet," he said.

I couldn't tell whether or not he was kidding but regardless, I forced my hands to loosen their hold and keep a respectable distance… at least until we got to the edges of the beach itself where the enormous, wooden posts bore deep into the ground.

"Oh fuck.." muttered through grit teeth as I realized a moment too late the stunt we were about to pull. Normally, a biker would have to slow down and weave through the posts at a steady pace to keep the front tire (and the biker's head) from smashing into the wooden stocks.

Paul sped up.

The engine roared and despite his previous warning, my hands clamped tightly to his sides, nails tearing at the fabric of his jacket as he jerked the bike from left to right. Sand was kicked up, spraying every which-way as we worked through the wooden masses, coming dangerously close each time that, had I shifted my face a half-an-inch to the right, I would have ended up with splinters in my cheek. Pure insanity… and better than any ride I'd ever been on at the boardwalk.

Soon enough, we were in the clear and the beach was suddenly long gone as we came to a dirt path that led into the heart of all Santa Carla superstition. The woods.

The place was familiar to me, I'd been in several different area's and actually had enough memory to scope out a few familiar trees and paths, though the one we were currently taking led us up beyond the trees and to the ever-growing sound of the ocean as it smashed angrily against the side of a…

… cliff.


	13. The Cave

"Holy shit," muttered in a rasping voice as I stared down the rocky edge of the massive cliff, watching as the white tides smashed solidly down below. Each time they fell back, they revealed more and more of the jagged rocks and boulders that existed below. An agonizing death if one were to fall when the tide wasn't up.

On second thought, it would hurt either way.

"Told you it'd be a fuckin' trip," grinned Paul as he glanced behind, catching my eyes for a single second before turning the bike away.

We'd come out of the forest and into a clearing that I hadn't known existed before. It was strange in that it didn't seem to be there by accident. The ground was still soft and, as I squinted through the darkness, I could make out several outlines of tree stumps that had been cut down and pulled out from the earth. And unless trees could somehow pull out their roots and start walking around…

Note to self, next story for magazine: Migrating Trees.

It was until moments later that I realized the cause for such a spacious surrounding.

At first glance, you'd never truly understand what had happened in this place about a century ago. I didn't know the details myself; something about a hotel, an earthquake and a fault that had caused the place to collapse in on itself and, supposedly, be dumped into the ocean. Up close however, this apparently wasn't the case. A jagged, metal staircase led upwards towards the crack itself and, from what I could see, a wooden bridge that led into the recesses of God knows where.

Shit, I knew it. This was probably the place where they kept all the bodies of their victims and two more were about to be added to the collection.

Thankfully, I was still too stunned from the ride to comment.

Dolly, however…

"Oh my God, that was amazing!" She smiled, running a hand a long her face to collect the stray black hairs that clung along her cheeks in a sexy fashion. "I never even knew this place existed."

Dwayne grinned, doing much of the same with his own hair before holding out his arm for Dolly to take. "Care to see it up close?" that smokey voice asked.

She didn't even hesitate or glance in my direction as she beamed. "I'd love to!"

And with that, I was left to stand with Paul in the background, watching as the pair ascended the rickety staircase and pulling a stray twig out from somewhere in the hem of my pants. From the side, I watched as the punk straightened his jacket and treated the pair to a glowering glare of his own. Pale lips parted and for a single second, I could have sworn I'd heard a growl.

"Bastard didn't call first dibs."

* * *

Her heart was beating wildly inside her chest. The world around her and ever single, intricate detail seemed somehow surreal as she passed up the rickety staircase that led to a wooden bridge and, while holding tight to Dwayne's arm, crossed while only looking down once. She couldn't believe this was happening, that some gorgeous hunk was leading her along a worn path that led into the darkened crevice of the cliff itself. A cave that was illuminated only by a single beam of silver light from the moon overhead.

It was all too perfect, too movie like for any sort of sensation other than pure excitement and pleasure.

"Wow, this is amazing," she said, releasing her hold on that arm just enough to work her way down along the rigid, stone path. At first, she wasn't sure what to expect. A large room likely decorated with graffiti, beer cans and a pit where a fire had once been. Instead, she was greeted with the silver light and a room that looked to have almost been livable at one point and time.

The shadows were deep, however, and it took but a moment for Dwayne to find a pair of workable matches and toss a few lighted flames into the barrels surrounding. The smell of smoke and burning wood immediately assaulted her senses, though it was cleared in a moment as the wind rushed through the area and carried it out through the top. Clever.

The shadows were suddenly gone and replaced with the golden light from the flames that revealed several secrets within the room itself. No, it wasn't merely a hang-out for repressed teenagers, drug attics or wild, partying drunks. The room was filled with various objects and oddities; everything ranging from couches, posters, surf-boards, tool boxes, wooden chests, a large, slightly crooked desk and, perhaps the most impressive article, a bed resting in the corner where covers were drawn and a teddy bear sat amongst the pillows, watching her with two black, beady eyes. She couldn't even begin to imagine how anyone could get something so large in such a tight space, though somehow it seemed to fit perfectly with it's surroundings.

She turned back towards the still smiling Dwayne. "You live here?"

He nodded. "Yea, it's wild, isn't it? This place actually use to be a hotel way back when and in the early nineteen hundreds, an earthquake swallowed it whole. Seemed like everyone forgot about this place except for us… so we live here."

Despite the roaring fires around her, she couldn't help but clutch her arms in the sudden chill of the air. She laughed. "Doesn't it get cold, though?"

That sexy smile broadened and without hesitating, the leather jacket she'd been clutching all through their ride was slipped from his shoulders and set around her own.

"No," stated simply before wrapping an arm around her warming shoulders.

Heat immediately came to those cheeks as she smiled hard, trying not to feel too awkward (or too comfortable) beneath his touch.

_Christ, girl, get a grip. He's probably half your age._

Footsteps followed her train of thought as James and Paul managed to slide into the entrance of the cave and into the main room as well, laughing together at something she didn't quite catch. Or at least, they had been until the eyes of James came to rest upon her form, snug against Dwayne's own.

The humor left his face momentarily, but the man was good at covering his tracks. Turning away, he followed after the bouncing Paul to where a stuffed, purple elephant was strung up in several leather and chain bondage cords from a near by rafter.

"C'mon man, you gotta at least smoke one with me," said Paul as he moved behind the elephant and reached into it's… well… for a second, it looked like he was giving the poor creature a prostate exam.

Dwayne's arm tightened.

"Looks like they'll be busy for a few… want to see something incredible?" he asked.

Her eyes were immediately caught in that deep, unearthly stare. Though he was a kid, she couldn't help but feel there was something more to his appearance. To those eyes that held a sense of knowing; soft around the edges but the deeper one looked, they could feel the subtle pricks rise along their necks and spine. There was something dangerous lurking within.

"Well…" she shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I guess.. I mean, I don't want to leave James alone for too long."

Looking back, she watched as Paul sat slumped against a moth-eaten chair, passing a smoking, lavender joint to James who took it gingerly and, after a brief study, took a long, experienced hit. The smoke was held for a moments before a sudden eruption had him coughing and passing the joint back to Paul who tossed his head back and laughed.

"Man, what'd I tell you, this is the fucking shit!" the blonde kid exclaimed before taking another hit himself.

With a semi-disgusted look, she turned back to Dwayne and nodded. "Sure, why not."


	14. A Broken Angel

"No, no… man… it's not like that. It's not like… I don't appreciate what Zeppelin did for the rock industry… it's just that…. Fuck man, their music goes on and _on and on. _I mean, you gotta be high to appreciate it then, but when… when you're sober it just gets too fucking… long."

The kid's face had warped, his forehead sticking out farther than it should have been and his eyes becoming large and alien like as they stared out from his exceedingly vibrant bangs. A part of me wanted to reach out and touch them, wondering if they would float away if they became detached from his head. Instead, I sat back and watched the flames flicker back and forth like an angry cobra, listening to the soothing sound of Robert Plant's voice as he spoke of the forbidden lands of Mordor.

After a moment, I managed to nod in agreement. "Well, it's not like they were sober when making the music… I mean, half of their shit is based on the novel the Hobbit. Fuck, I could never make it through that book," I said, feeling the words more than I really heard them.

"Man, you are so fuckin' smashed," Paul laughed and leaned forward to stub out the rest of the oddly colored joint.

He was right, I hadn't felt this relaxed since… well, my last hit from actual weed that was sometime within the last three years. At the moment, I couldn't really remember. Nor did I care.

Shit, but there was something I was suppose to remember. Something I was suppose to be doing…

"Do you believe in vampires?" I blurted out.

The silence should have been enough to set me on edge, but again… I'm a retired druggie. I should have been able to handle my high but the shit that I had just inhaled into my body was something that obviously hadn't been around in my day. Some kind of Wonder Weed that was far more potent then the supposed chronic we were smoking on a regular basis in our parents basement.

Paul stared off in my direction for a moment, weaving back and forth before blinking slowly and grinning. "Yea, I do. Why?"

I could feel it, the world starting to unravel around me. My cover blown and this kid realizing that I knew everything from the fire in the trailer to the snapshots of him on the beach with his cronies. Fuck, just say something someone really high would say.

The thought made me laugh. "Dolly likes 'em."

Thankfully, Paul bought and nodded with that grin. "Yea, I gathered. And if you don't mind me saying so… she's fucking hot, dude."

I felt a strange warmth suddenly coursing through my body at her mention. Not a sexual feeling…not exactly. But it was another thing I should have been aware of at the moment, where the hell she was and where Dwayne had gone as well. No doubt they were together, but I couldn't sum up the strength push off from the couch just yet, and look for them.

From the chair, Paul scowled. "Fuck, it's gone already."

I glanced back and caught sight of those sharp eyes, glaring dangerously at the flames of the flickering candles before us. I shook my head, confused. "What's gone?"

He looked up in my direction. "My high. It doesn't last as long as it use to. I guess David was right about that _more you feed, the stronger you become, _shit."

I tried to wrap my mind around his words. "What?"

He kept his eyes locked to my own, the smile on his face far from charismatic jeer I'd seen before.

"Nothin' man. Just need something to drink."

* * *

"So… why live here? Why not get a place closer to town?"

They'd headed into the deeper portions of the cave, stumbling past numerous boulders, deteriorating hotel debris and a numerous articles of furniture that were all in states of decay. Some of it, however, looked to be recently used and Dolly could only imagine what it might be like to spend the night in a place like this. Nothing but the sound of the ocean and the fear of rats and other bugs crawling along one's body.

She couldn't help but grimace. Here she was, having just taken a wild ride with a kid---a supposed vampire---she had just met on the beach and was now following him into the dark recesses of some forgotten cave that rested on the edge of a steeping cliff. And she was worrying over seeing a rat or cockroach.

Dwayne seemed to sense her concern as he placed a protective arm around her shoulders and gave nothing more than simple shrug. "You get use to it, after awhile."

It still didn't answer her question but for the moment, she kept her mouth shut. It was obvious this kid wasn't one to freely give away any secrets or mysteries about this place or himself for that matter. And she could sense the pleasure he received from such secrecy; a deeper knowing locked within those brown eyes that seemed to watch her every step.

Nothing had ever felt so good and so… dangerous, at the same time.

Soon enough, they reached the end of the cave and came upon a pale shadow that was imbedded within the massive rocks. At first, she couldn't tell what it was as she leaned close, feeling the smoothness of the stone beneath her fingertips and attempting to see up into the blackness that surrounded it. The arm around her shoulders released and, jumping with all the ease of a cat upon one of the big boulders, Dwayne reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter he had stolen from her purse.

The metal _snicked _and suddenly she found herself staring up into the face of a man.

An angel.

The statue was at least three times the size of any human, carved out of white marble with seemingly soft wings rising out from it's back and a halo resting upon the crown of his head. Both arms had been broken off at the elbows though at one point, she could imagine that he'd been raising them up to the sky in unknowing terror as the building around him collapsed and forever encased him in darkness.

For a single moment, she was speechless.

The intricate details of his body had been chipped away, but enough remained upon that face to stare down at her with those large, sorrowful eyes. Beautifully curved lips were parted, almost as though he were going to speak or sing a song. Hair that had once swept upon his neck and shoulders had been crushed into an ugly crop and crack lines had formed along his once smooth, almost boyish chest and torso.

After a moment, she managed to find her voice. "It's beautiful…"

Dwayne nodded, letting the flame die. "I know.. I found it when we first came here. None of the other guys know about it and if they did, they would probably destroy it."

Grimacing slightly, she nodded. Though she hadn't met the other two boys, it was easy to imagine that Paul would take a can of spray paint to the thing, defiling it in the name of music or drugs or whatever the hell the kid worshiped.

Turning, she was instantly met with the cold press of Dwayne's chest as the kid appeared right before her eyes.

"Jesus! How the hell do you do that?" she asked, clutching her chest lightly and pulling back just enough to see his grinning face.

He smirked, wrapping those arms around her body once more and pulling her uncomfortably close. "Practice."

Her body trembled, feeling the kid's own through that soft mesh shirt as his leather jacket fell from those weakening shoulders. Every fantasy she'd ever had (though the background might have been different) was starting to come to life. To be taken up, held in another's arms closely and to feel the whisper of his breath along her cheek and neck, sending erotic chills through her spine.

"Dwayne… don't.." A hand came up to press against his chest.

His smile was patient, though it held the likeness of a cat sitting in front of a mouse hole and cleaning it's claws as it waited for the poor creatures to scurry out.

She shook her head and tried to push away once more. "I can't, I have a boyfriend. Actually, I should probably get back out there and make sure he's not--"

The kiss was sudden and entirely unexpected.

Unlike the rest of his body, lips were hot and they pressed forward, meshing tightly against her own. He was gentle at first, letting her get use to the sensation for a good two seconds before teeth began to scrape slowly along her lower lip and body was forced back against the boulder he'd been standing on only moments before.

For a single moment, she forgot. The story, James sitting in the other room, smoking weed with Paul, her parents, their expectations and how she had failed each and every one of them. All lost as the kiss enfolded her in that welcoming darkness.

The kid hid his secrets well, letting those hands rake along her arms and clutch wrists that were rising up to press along his chest and hair. Agonizingly keeping her at bay while a thumb pressed forward, letting a surprisingly sharp nail grind against the flesh of her palm. A whimper was met through their kiss, parting her lips and allowing him full access inside that panting mouth. The pain in her palm worsened, however, suddenly growing warm with a wet sensation that began to trickle down her wrists.

Blood.

She didn't know whether to be repulsed or drawn into the sensation that he was creating within her body. A deep pulsing of pleasure, echoing like the sound of waves crashing against the side of the cliff or… the beating of a human heart.

"Dwayne… stop. We can't do this…" The words were only half-hearted and desperately, she tried again.

"I have a boyfriend who will freak if he sees me--"

"He doesn't have to know.." Spoken in a whisper along her cheek before that face pulled back just enough to stare into her eyes. The bleeding wrist was taken up and for the first time that evening, a sense of true horror began to sink in.

She was bleeding… badly. He'd cut clear into her palm and it had felt like nothing more than a simple pinprick against her flesh. A moment was taken to study the wound, smiling in that quiet way before raising the wound to his lips and---

_SLAP! _

The sound was startling, even to her as the flat of her unwounded palm came to smack against the side of his face. For a moment, it stunned them both but Dolly was quick to recover as she jerked her bleeding hand away and took off for the main room of the cave.


	15. Lucky Escape

"Um.. Kid, don't take this the wrong way but… you're really invading my personal space right now."

The drug was still running thick through my mind, relaxing the "gut-reaction" in my body that should have been going wild at this point as I watched each of the candles that had been lit, going out one by one. The fire in the barrel that had been set before started to diminish as well and the area was cast in shadows that were illuminated only by silver shards of light that seeped in from the cracks in the ceiling overhead. Paul had gotten up and started a slow-moving walk towards me, mouth grinning almost in a jester-like fashion as he watched me watching him.

My mouth was parted slightly, feeling the sudden coolness of his body that was undeniably close to mind. And, in absolute stoner fashion, I immediately assumed the worst.

"Look, Paul, I'm not…" I struggled to find the right words. "If I sent you any signal that I was interested---"

He laughed. "No way, man… it's not like that. I'm just fucking hungry and since Dwayne has your girl, I guess I get to have you."

Again, it took me a second longer than I would have liked, to wrap the words around my mind and immediately realize what he was saying.

_Shit_.

His face was dangerously close to mine and for a single instant, I could have sworn it had morphed into some kind of acid-induced nightmare. Blue eyes became a deep, impenetrable yellow with only a single slit for each pupil inside. High cheek-bones rose even higher, stretching the skin along his face and giving him an outlandish appearance that twisted into something incredibly horrific. Lips parted, revealing two sets of bristling fangs and just as I had opened my mouth to scream… the image was suddenly gone.

As though he had just been physically attacked, head snapped away from my own and a sudden growl sounded, low and guttural in his throat.

"What the fuck!" he managed before turning to watch as the image of Dolly came rushing out of the cave, blood streaming from her hand and eyes wild in state of shock and fear.

"JAMES!" she screamed.

I was on my feet in a second… stumbling against the couch, then against the chair and finally against the blonde kid himself as he stood fully in my path. The same low, menacing sound growled low from deep in his throat and I couldn't help but be transfixed for a moment, seeing only those angry, blue eyes.

"And where the fuck do you think you're going, Mr. Bowie?" he asked.

The friendship we had shared only moments ago was torn apart and apparently, the same was happening to Dolly as she ran further in the room, looking similar to a deer that had just been spotted by he deep, predatorily eyes of Dwayne.

The dark-haired kid didn't run after her--he didn't need to. Instead, a languid pace was taken as a hand brushed up along the side of his face, a visible handprint marring the once perfect, pale cheek.

It's moments like these, when everything you know is about to come crashing down on top of you, that I wish I would have stayed in North Dakota, suffering through brutal winters at my father's company, working a nine to five job and making a decent amount of money and keeping the ghost stories as a personal hobby, tucked safely away in the proverbial closet.

But no. I _had _to come out to California, I _had _to get a job as an aspiring writer with hopes and aspirations of becoming the best their was. And I _had _to take Kinsely's offer and do a fucking story on blood-sucking vampires.

I personally can't wait until they invent time machines so I can travel back to this very moment and slap myself across the face.

Throwing my arms up into the air, I tried for the parental approach.

"Whoa! Okay, let's just fucking chill here for a moment!" my voice rasped out, causing Dolly to halt momentarily and Dwayne to pass a glance in my direction. 

For a moment, his and Paul's gaze met. A flicker was seen in both set's of eyes and I couldn't help the idea that they were somehow… talking to each other. Or at least sharing a silent message that was likely very bad for both me and Dolly.

Their eyes glanced back and my mouth opened to let loose another string of curses when suddenly---

Sirens.

The sound was distant at first, but it was definitely getting closer with each passing moment that we stood locked in silence and fear. Another look was passed between the kids and I took the moment to shove my way past Paul and rush towards Dolly who was already scraping her way towards the exit. Blood was pouring down her arm; already small pools had begun to form along the rocks as she climbed and, avoiding it's direct contact, I managed to scramble my way up, after her.

There was no hesitation in her mind. Whatever had happened in the back of the cave must have startled the woman half to death for she took to the bridge without so much as a glance down to the gushing waters below. I did my best to follow her example, keeping my hands locked to the rail and biting my way through the pain of receiving at least a dozen splinters in my palm.

Just as we reached the ridge, we saw them. Two police cars parked out in front with lights flashing and two hefty cops standing towards the staircase, likely debating on which one should go up first.

Their eyes seemed almost relieved as they watched us come up over the ridge, stumbling against the metal steps of the staircase.

"Hey!" the first cop shouted, flashing his flashlight on Dolly's face. "You're not suppose to be up there!"

A bloody hand reached up to shield her eyes as she made her way to the ground. I was still stunned from the moments before, following in Dolly's footsteps as we reached the bottom and were suddenly confronted.

The second cop flashed his light on me, looking me up and down. "What the hell were you doing up there? That's off limits to the public, you could be charged a five-hundred dollar fine for trespassing."

I was still trying to catch my breath, keeping my face tilted towards the ground to avoid looking the man straight in the eyes. Despite the fact that we were almost raped and murdered, I still had enough sense to realize that, should the cop see my bloodshot eyes, he would likely charge me with drug use and that could send my ass straight into the state pen for a good six months.

No more story, no more promotion.

Shallow, I know, but I've been in similar scrapes like this before and none have managed to kill me yet.

Before I could answer, however, Dolly scowled and motioned back towards the stairway.

"We didn't know! We were just taken here by a couple of guys that we met on the beach. They actually _live _here," she said.

I was surprised at how good of control she had; despite her bleeding hand and the fact that she was likely almost raped and killed, she managed to keep her cool and tell the cops absolutely nothing.

Silently, they exchanged glances and the first one nodded.

"This place is condemned," he said. "You're friends are going to be in a lot of trouble when we find them."

I managed a bitter laugh. "They're not our friends."

Another glance was passed between them and I could suddenly feel Dolly's eyes upon me; large, doe-like hues that seemed to plead silently.

I couldn't understand what she was getting at, so I shrugged my shoulders and pointed. "Hey, if you don't believe us, they're still up in there."

The second cop nodded to his partner. "I'll go check it out. You better get her to a hospital to check out that cut."

The first cop sighed and lowered his flashlight, motioning for us to follow him back to his car. I was skeptical at first, watching as the second cop carefully began to climb those stairs and keep his flashlight level as though waiting for something to pop out over the top.

The first cop opened the back door of his cab, allowing us to climb inside.

"You know, you kids are lucky we're not going to charge you with trespassing. Next time, however, it's going to be a large fine," spoken gruffly before closing the door.

I glanced towards Dolly who was smiling at me through the darkness, clutching her still bleeding hand. Her voice held a spark of strangely familiar cynicism and irony.

"Well, now that we've gained their trust, how about inviting them over to your place for their interviews?"


	16. Humble Abode

"What do you mean the story is done?"

Dawn was pouring slowly across the horizon. Silence enveloped the boardwalk as the tides began to pull back and seagulls were waking, snapping their beaks and pecking along the sands for any trash that remained from the night before. We'd walked from the hospital down to the beach, bypassing the bodies that lay sprawled in man-made beds and the burning embers of bonfires that had long since surpassed. It felt as though an eternity had passed since we had taken the ride to the cave and finally, my body was beginning to wind down.

Fear is better than any drug you will ever find upon the streets… minus adrenacrome and a few other highly fatal drugs that one sip could, quite literally, be your last. No exaggeration either. I'd heard too many stories of people getting fucked over on that poison… but then again, it had to be one hell of a ride.

I struggled with the key to my front door, pushing and scraping along the doorknob as Dolly stood behind me, seemingly not ready to go home just yet.

I shook my head in dismay. "We blew it, babe. That's the life of an undercover journalist and we're damn lucky we still have ours. Sometimes you can ride for a long time and others you just fall right off the bike."

Her silence made me nervous. We hadn't spoken much through the drive to the hospital, the six stitches she received in her hand or the walk back. I'd kept my arm protectively around her shoulders and she seemed to sink into the embrace. It was a small victory, even though the rest of the night had gone to shit. We had enough to make a story against Paul and the kid he had been hanging out with, maybe switch it from vampires to ghosts so that the pictures would make a little more sense.

Dolly, however, didn't seem to realize that we'd just lost. I had to give her credit for her enthusiasm; I was like her at one point and time, sticking with the story until I found out all I could. No matter what the cost.

I guess I truly am getting lazier as the years roll by.

"Look, it was a set back, that's all. We don't have to physically confront them to find out their secrets, do we?" she asked.

"What are we going to do, hire a psychic to help us?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

Dolly seemed to sense this and began to back away. I couldn't help but suddenly turn, watching as she gazed out across my dying yard and the sensible, middle-to-upper class neighborhood that I was thankful to be apart of. Lips pursed in an adorable pout and I found my arm reaching out to brush fingertips along those mesh-covered shoulders, preventing her escape.

"Look.. I know what you're feeling. I use to feel it all the time myself, but these kids… they're sick. And besides, we already have enough for about three issues and Kinsely to piss himself when he finds out what we discovered. So we haven't really failed, just got a lousy ending, is all."

For moment, my speech seemed to work. Brown eyes turned back towards my own and the pout became a soft smile as she gave a nod.

"I guess you're right," she said, brushing a strange of hair from her face with her bandaged hand. "But what about my recorder?"

I blinked. "Recorder?"

She nodded. "The one I planted in their hangout. I'm not sure how much good it will do, especially if those two got taken away by the cops but… it might capture something interesting."

For a moment, I was speechless. The idea seemed entirely too simple; planting a recorder after we had left to catch the conversations between the two punks and, though it was without their consent, gain a few usable quotes for our article.

I couldn't help but smile. The woman was genus, pure and simple. Had I been in her place, the idea never would have occurred to me, at least not in the arms of the Tall, Dark and Psychotic. AKA Dwayne.

The key finally slipped into the lock and turned, opening the door to my humble abode.

Honestly, if I had something to brag about, I really would. But unfortunately, journalism isn't exactly the highest paying job in the country, let alone one that gives any benefits other than sex, drugs and an alcohol problem.

The house itself is one level, one story; complete with a fenced in yard containing mostly dirt and other debris thrown by passing drivers and a single, dying tree that sits directly in front of the picture window that's meant to give sight to the entire neighborhood. Very useful, seeing as now I don't have to hang curtains or some kind of rotting towel when I want to do drugs or walk around naked. Inside is not much better; ugly, green carpet that has existed since the dawn of time, a stained, brown couch in one corner and a lazy boy chair in the next. Follow the path of old socks and junk mail and you'll eventually reach the kitchen where, apparently, the residence before me was having seizures as he picked out the colors for the wall, the cabinets and the countertop. Dark, dark blue walls countered by white, yellow-stained cabinets and a mustered countertop with visible burn marks and coffee stains. Oh, the floor is carpet as well--dizzy, spiraling patterns that, if one were high on acid, they would probably fall into.

Take a few steps further and you'll reach a hallway with three doors. A bathroom, a closet and my room. All, despite the previous rooms, relatively clean and sparse. My room particularly with the bed as the centerpiece baring black sheets and an old, wooden headboard that bares several strange scratches and carvings upon it's still-glossy surface. A tired desk sits in the corner with another typewriter on it and several stacks of used and unused paper. On the walls I have a few posters, Jimmie Hendrix, CCR and Steve Miller Band, to name some.

And within a second of Dolly setting foot in my house, I suddenly wished I had swallowed the key. Had it been anyone else, I wouldn't have given a rat's ass what they thought of my dirty socks on the lamp shade and the t.v. screen with two inches of dust upon the surface. But as she stepped inside, I immediately began to scramble, picking up random things and setting them elsewhere, hoping to create enough confusion so she couldn't see how much of a slob I was.

Surprisingly, she didn't seem to notice as she moved to sit in the lazy boy chair, hands struggling with the clip. Without hesitating (or having any idea what I was doing), I moved over to her and gently released the clip, weaving it out of her hair and watching as the heavy, brown locks fell along her shoulders and around her face. Those eyes were looking up at me again, a smile curving along her lips.

Suddenly, she was standing in front of me, those arms wrapped around my half-naked chest and lips rising up to press against my own in a warm, gentle kiss. As surprised as my mind was, my body wasted no time responding to the woman's affections as the leather jacket slid off my shoulders and arms wrapped around her delicate frame.

My heart was beating wildly, sending a flush of warmth through my body that only increased with every passing moment as our bodies pressed and mouths locked together in their erotic embrace.

I barely remember making it to my room and falling back upon my bed, gazing up at those soft brown eyes that seemed to mirror the image of my soul.


	17. Tape Recording

_**Tape Recorder:**_

_Shuffling. Something heavy dropping to the floor and then kicked as sounds of disgust are made._

Paul: "Fuck, I hate it when they're not clean shaven. I think I got some of his hair in my mouth."

Dwayne: _Grunt. _"I'm not carrying him out by myself."

Paul: _Moment of silence… _"Hairy bastard… I think I almost got it."

Dwayne: "PAUL."

Paul: "All right! Chill out, man. Not like David hasn't ever killed a cop before."

Dwayne: "Yea, but he doesn't do it often and will have a shit-fit if he realizes we killed him in the cave."

_More shuffling, lifting the heavy load and moving at an uneasy pace towards the entrance of the cave. Silence ensues for a moment… followed by the sudden, sickening crack of the waves crashing along the shore. _

_Footsteps are finally heard coming back inside._

Paul: "By the way, what the fuck was up with you and that Dolly-chick? Couldn't handle the heat? Or do you secretly like being smacked around and treated like a bitch?"

Dwayne: "Shut up, Paul."

Paul: "Should have given her to me. Least I would've gotten laid before all hell broke loose."

_Sounds echoing in the distance. Motorcycles. Couch squeaks with sudden movement followed by silence and the crackle of flames as they echo inside their metal barrels. Distant voices grow closer with each moment until they are heard, echoing inside the cave._

Small Child: "Why can't I, David? Other kids do."

David: "Because, other kids aren't half vampires who kill birds and small animals with slingshots and then drink their blood."

Paul: "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

David: _Heavy steps further into the cave. _"Laddie wants to go to school."

Paul: "It would never work out, Laddie. You sleep all day, remember?"

Laddie: "Yes it would! I mostly wake up in the afternoon and can go then."

Paul: "Nah, you gotta get up earlier than that, twerp. They want you in there by eight o'clock sharp."

Dwayne: "Why do you want to go to school, anyway?"

Laddie: _Growing more impatient and angry._ "Cause that's what kids do! I'm suppose to be in the first grade!"

David: "You're not going to school, Laddie. End of discussion."

_Silence followed by soft whimpers and the scurrying of quick feet to the corner of the room._

Paul: "C'mon David, you didn't have to tell him like that."

David: "Since when do kids _want _to go to school? Five minutes in that place and he would be expelled."

Dwayne: _Following the footsteps. _"Laddie? Look, David's right. You aren't like those other kids and you probably wouldn't get along with them. You're like us and we don't go to school."

Paul: "Yea, trust me, twerp. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Laddie: _Sniffles. _"But… how am I suppose to learn how to read and do math and stuff?"

Dwayne: "I'll teach you. Whatever you want to learn, just name it."

Paul: "Yea! And I'll help. Look, I already got a rhyme for you to learn: Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack fell down and broke his di--"

Dwayne and David: "Shut up, Paul."

Laddie: "What did he break?"

Dwayne: _After an uncomfortable silence._ "I'll tell you when you're older."

Unfamiliar voice: _Sudden rush of wind, followed by footsteps into the cave. _"What the hell is this? Some kind of sick love-fest?"

Paul: "Hey Marko."

David: "Laddie wants to go to school."

Marko: "Yea? Let him."

Laddie: _Sudden burst of hope._ "Really?"

All four voices: "No."

Marko: _More steps followed by a squeaking of the couch. Sitting down. _"So, you two assholes get lucky tonight?"

Paul: _Snide_. "We were, until Dwayne decided to puss out."

David: "What do you mean? I smell fresh blood in here."

Dwayne: _Uneasy silence but immediately tries to cover face. _"We had one. But we had to share him."

Marko: "Him?"

David: "…. who did you bring here?"

Paul: "The dude that's now floating somewhere in the ocean."

David: "I mean specifically, who did you guys kill?"

Paul: _Hesitation. _"Just… some guy."

David: _Dangerous edge to his voice. _"Paul."

Paul: "What?"

David: "Look at me."

_Uneasy silence throughout the cave. Faint grinding of waves against the cliffs. _

David: _Voice deepens slightly, causing a strange sense of power to be felt. _**"Look at me now."**

_Squeaking of the couch._

David: "Who did you guys kill?"

Paul: "…. A cop."

David: _Suddenly furious. _"A what?"

Paul: "Oh, don't act like it was all fucking my fault! Dwayne was in on it too!"

Dwayne: _Quiet and infuriatingly calm_. "Paul broke his neck first."

Paul: _A snarl. _"You son of a bitch!"

_Sudden sounds of rough-housing: metal clashing and glass breaking before a gust of wind screams through the cave, followed by---_

David: "STOP."

_The clashing stops, feet scrambling back and sounds of heavy panting fill the room._

David: "Paul, you're forbidden to leave the cave for three days."

Paul: _Shock_. "What?!"

David: "And Dwayne, you can spend the next three days with Max at his video store getting all the shit that I normally do after you assholes pull such a stunt."

Dwayne: "………."

Paul: _Snarl, footsteps leading into the deeper portions of the cave until they are no longer heard._

Laddie: "…David?"

David: "What?"

Laddie: "Where do babies come from?"


	18. Morrison Fan

It was hard to believe how quickly time seemed to pass.

How, only the night before we had barely managed to escape from the cave and it's teenage occupants, and were now cruising at a good fifty-five miles an hour on rough, dirt terrain to go back there and retrieve a small piece of evidence that could make or break our story.

Tension stabbed through the air, creating a black swarm of gnats deep within my stomach, gnawing away at my innards until I was unable to feel anything but a strange combination of both excitement and fear. How I had gotten into such a situation I wasn't exactly sure. But the instant Dolly began to dress at the side of my bed, flashing me that pout all the while she slid on those black panties, that long-sleeved mesh shirt and the corset that fell around it… I was unable to resist.

Either that, or the fact that I was more relaxed and… happy then I had been in a long, _long _while. We'd spent the entire day locked in an unbreakable embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies and meshing perfectly beneath those black, cotton sheets. Her hair had streamed over my chest in soft curls, those doe-eye staring up at me until we both managed to fall asleep and all the while, I was able to feel her near me. The soothing presence of another body close to my own wasn't something I was use to, not like this.

The entire experienced passed through my mind like a dream, leaving me to wake with her still nestled against my chest and those arms enclosed around my waist.

The feeling I experienced at that moment was something close to the dreaded "L" word.

I won't even type it for fear of the old curse coming back. Call it stupidity in youth or my own eagerness in life to make all my dreams come true. I would start small as writer for a magazine but slowly work my way up in life and eventually become a major editor/author, making thousands of dollars each year with movie deals on all my books and finding my soul mate soon after.

Needless to say, the Nobel Prize commission still hasn't contacted me yet and I'm no where close to the standards I had set in a moment of delirium when I thought the world actually gave a shit.

But even in my shabby, one-story house, my thankless, mediocre job and fifteen-year-old, squeaking mattress, I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace.

No.. not love but definitely something close to it.

She'd woken in the same, graceful way she'd fallen to sleep and for a few minutes we simply stared at each other. It was her smile that broke my trance as she finally released her hold against my waist and moved to stretch languidly, exposing the perfection of that naked frame. We didn't speak, letting the silence continue as I watched her run those fingers through her hair and bat those eyes at me shyly. Finally, she began to move off the bed and towards the side where the pile of her clothes rested as well as a pack of cigarettes I was surprised to find.

Smoking only seemed to make her all the more sexy.

"It's sunset," she had remarked, gazing towards the white curtains that cluttered my dirty window.

I nodded. "Yea, I can't believe we slept all day. Hard work hunting vampires."

She laughed, though the comment drew her attention down to the palm of her hand. The mirth was suddenly gone as she stared at it, pressing her thumb to the wound and biting back a sudden cry of pain.

I finally managed to sit up and for the first time, I was curious as to just how she received such a wound. I assumed it was from falling and cutting her hand on a rock or glass… but the look in her eyes said something else.

"What did he do to you, Dolly?" I asked softly.

The question seemed to startle her for a moment, as though she had been lost in the memory. Quickly she shook her head.

"Nothing… it's nothing," she hesitated, biting her lip before glancing up in my direction. "We need to go back."

I knew it had been coming. She wanted her tape recorder and the surprising thing was, I did as well. The notion of leaving something like that hadn't even crossed my mind and I was impressed with her quick wits and how easily she'd managed to slip it in without either kid noticing. But at the same time, while I wasn't convinced they were actual vampires, I wasn't so sure that they were ordinary teenagers, either.

In the end, I had finally agreed after painfully watching her slip on that constricting clothing and forcing myself to do the same. I still couldn't recognize myself in the mirror without my brown hair falling everywhere, tea-shades or my dozens of Acapulco shirts in various assortments of colorful flowers and awkward designs. At the same time, however, I wasn't all that sure whether or not I missed the old me.

The truck jumped, hitting a deep rut and forcing me back to the present as I gripped the steering wheel and swore beneath my breath. The trail wasn't made for anything much bigger than a dirt bike but somehow we managed to sift around the trees and come out clean into the clearing that stretched for a good hundred feet before we managed to see the wooden staircase.

The tension grew. There were no bikes parked out in front and no sign of the teenagers or the cops that had been here before. I hadn't gotten a chance to read the morning paper and hence, there was no telling what had happened last night after we had been escorted away to the hospital.

I stopped the truck a good ten feet away from the stairs and cut the engine, letting it roll the rest of the way before forcing it into Park. For a moment, we simply sat, staring out at the edge of the cliff and listening to the waves as they crashed angrily against the surface. Clouds had moved in, it would likely storm soon.

"Well… this is it," I said, trying to ease the air around us.

Dolly nodded without comment, opening the door and slipping out of the truck. I followed, keeping at her side and brushing an arm around her shoulders before I managed to catch myself.

Yea… spend all morning having sex, then sleeping together all afternoon and I'm still the coldest bastard in Santa Carla.

Her eyes glanced worriedly into my own, as though she were having second thoughts about the entire situation. That arm grew tighter.

"Look…" I said softly. "We don't have to do this. We can say 'fuck it' and turn back now, no problem."

She took in the words, but those eyes didn't seem to grow any less worried as she shook her head. The smile was almost bitter.

"It's so ironic… the one Hollywood monster I was never afraid of as kid has come back to bite me in the ass. I'm scared, James. But I don't want to turn back. We have to get that recorder."

I couldn't help a smile of my own as I nodded.

"Don't worry, I won't let them bite you, Countess."

* * *

The music was heard before they even reached the entrance of the cave.

"The End" by the Doors. The deep voice of Jim Morrison poured throughout the shadows and into every single nook and crevice that the room held, filling it with a mystic sense of confusion and despair. James flinched visibly as he came to the opening, looking inside and motioning that there was indeed, someone sitting within.

She only needed to see the very tip of the brimming mess of dirty blonde locks to know that it was Paul, lounging on the couch in a relaxed pose with arms beneath his head and eyes closed, a single boot tapping to the rhythm of the guitars and chimes.

And while he still didn't appear anything like a normal teenager, there was a sense of calm about him that she hadn't seen the night before. He was either very relaxed or very stoned, unaware that they were watching him from the shadows.

Thankfully, the music was turned up loud enough that they could whisper without being heard.

"Shit, we should leave," James spoke, cupping a hand around hear ear to muffle the sound.

Dolly pondered this a moment, but quickly shook her head. They'd come this far… how could they turn back now? Besides, they outnumbered Paul two to one. Unless, of course, Dwayne was hiding somewhere off in the deeper recesses of the cave.

Her own hand came to cup around James' ear. "Look, there's two of us. One can go in and make a distraction while the other goes in and retrieves the recorder. I hid it towards the back behind the Morrison Poster. So as long as he's kept facing the other way, he won't know a damn thing."

James seemed ready to protest or to say that he would be the one to distract Paul but before that mouth could open, Dolly was moving down the rocky steps that led into the cave itself, trying to be as loud as she could to catch his attention.

It worked.

Blonde head snapped up from behind the couch, eyes blinking rapidly as though he were attempting to adjust them to the light and watching as she moved her way noisily into the cave. For a vampire, he seemed genuinely surprised by her presence, but the calm façade was short in lasting. Long, jean-clad legs swung over the side of the couch and immediately he stood, moving towards the dusty boom box and hitting the OFF button on the cassette player. Eyes were still somewhat confused as Dolly approached, brushing a hand nervously through her hair and smiling.

"Hi Paul."

"Hey Doll… what are you doing here?" he asked, following her movements as a hand brushed almost nervously through his own derange of blonde locks. She had genuinely taken him off-guard by her presence in the cave, though he was quick to save face as those eyes began to scope her body up and down, landing repeatedly upon the white bandage attached to her hand.

"I… well, I was wondering if Dwayne was here. Things got so out of hand from the night before, I wanted to apologize," It was a trick question, hopefully one that James was listening to and would give the man an insight on whether or not they were truly facing only Paul.

The stoner quickly shook his head, however, smirking. "No he's not. He won't be around for awhile but I can give him the message, if you'd like."

Dolly smiled back. "Oh, that's okay. I'd rather tell him in person, but thanks."

They seemed to hit an impasse, staring each other down and wondering just what the hell would happen next. Her mind scrambled as she caught the sight of that boom box and suddenly began to move towards it.

"Was that the Doors you were just listening to?" she asked.

The motion seemed to surprise him further, though the smile was almost instant. A real smile.

"Hell yea, you a fan?" he asked.

She hit the play button and the eerie sound immediately filled the room once more, chimes ringing and the darkly rich voice speaking about a snake. Turning, those eyes caught sight of a shadow moving slowly along the back wall, trying his damndest to be as quiet as he could as he moved straight for the large head of Jim Morrison. Leaning back against the table, she smiled as sweetly as she could.

"No.. but I could be."


	19. In a Bottle

The woman's legs were parted, bent at the knees that rose from her body like twin peaks, trembling and bloodstained as they tried again and again to kick him away. Arms had already been taken care of: tethered high above her head at her own insistence, candy mouth giggling and letting loose excited moans as she watched her new found lover, tedious in his work. Her hair had gotten in the way once or twice, but leather fingers had smoothed away those blonde locks and any sense of doubt that was seen within tender features that stared out from a mask of innocence and pornographic sensuality.

To call her a whore was giving her too much credit. She was barely eighteen with a head still full of childish dreams and wonder, fully believing that David could be the one to whisk her away from the dredges of reality and take her to an erotic place where each and every fantasy and desire came true.

She was half-right. David would take her away, but not to any place bright and beautiful. At least… not in the way she had first imagined.

Normally hunting and feeding was never so elaborate. With three hungry vampires at his side, there was no time to waste in dabbling with the arts, taking care to make sure that the victim was rendered completely helpless and willing before David let them see what he truly was. Marko was too impatient, Dwayne was too involved and Paul… well, the creature was full of impulse though David gave credit for being the closest to actually keeping a girlfriend.

A bride, as the wily blonde often joked, leading the poor girl on for several weeks and months at a time before she finally realized what he was, long after it was already too late. But Paul's attention-span was that of a gnat's and even in a monogamous relationship, the girl would often find him with others and accuse him of cheating on her, long before she accused him of being a vampire.

To each his own, but David never allowed humans to get that close to him. To know him almost intimately before he made the final blow. This was as close as he was willing to get, staring down at the barely conscious girl whose blood had been drained repeatedly during their copulation. The wound at her neck had bled slowly, allowing him to draw out the moments as he leaned down in between thrusts, licking away at it slowly and listening to her moan. It was only after he'd drained her considerably, that she began to notice her body growing colder. Stiffer with the sickeningly sweet smell of death coming from her own flesh. By the time he pulled away, her eyes had glassed over and mouth parted in a silent word of thanks.

At least, that's what he wanted to believe it was.

She'd been so young, so willing and carefree that the end of her life probably hadn't fazed her at all. It was simply part of the adventure and death would take her to greater heights and pleasures that no human could ever fully know upon this earth.

Or whatever. The girl was dead.

Scuffed jeans slid easily up his legs and buttoned back into place. Black shirt followed as well as his jacket--he hadn't bothered to remove his gloves as the girl had a thing for the feeling of leather along her flesh. Boots were kept to the side for a moment as deformed, claw-baring feet stretched and scraped hard upon the ground. It was one thing he couldn't stand about being a vampire. His feet.

They were shaped similar to a bat's and yet, unlike his face, there was no way to make them transform back into any normal size or stature. And despite the fact they were useful for hanging from the ceiling, David could find no other reason or relation to the bat-species and God-forbid Max would have an answer for it. The man himself didn't sleep hanging upside-down. He slept in a coffin like every other vampire in the world and laughed himself into a fit the first time he learned that David and his boys were hanging from the ceiling.

And here he had thought he was being original and finding a use for such ugly feet.

Oh, and other than the hanging-from-the-ceiling bit, they were also useful for carrying off prey. Maybe that's what they were meant for.

The cigarette was fished out from a crumpled box in his pocket, the orange end set against pale lips while hands dug for his lighter. Around him, voices were beginning to surface; the woman next-door shouting at one of her kids to be quiet so that she could hear Oprah, the man on the other side pounding away at something in the wall, either fixing a jagged board or attempting to break his way through into the next apartment. Kids were running through the hallways and dogs (even though there were no pets allowed) were barking. It wasn't a run-down place, but definitely not something that the upper-class citizens of this beach town would be caught dead in.

The girl's own apartment had been surprisingly sparse and neat. The living room/kitchen was kept in a modestly organized fashion with a single table, two chairs, a love seat and a couch. There was no tv. Her bedroom (single door on the right) had a walk-in closet filled with a not-so-modest clothing, a pink, furry bed and testaments to her idols plastered to the walls with use of clear tape and sticky-tac. He was glad that they'd fucked out on the couch instead of that bedroom. It was hard enough to keep an erection knowing that something so brutally neon pink and outlandishly fuzzy was within ten feet of them in this apartment.

Lighter was found and after a few flicks, the cigarette was lit and spilling it's noxious smoke into the air, swirling a few moments in the pale, yellow light before disappearing all together. The knock at the door didn't startle him as it was followed with a clear, psychic message: _"Hey, you done in there?"_

Marko.

"Yea, come on in."

The door opened and grunge angel appeared, glancing behind him only once to make sure no one had witnessed him entering before shutting the door and taking in the sight before him.

Deathly pale, naked girl with hands still tied and one knee upraised while the other slumped towards the couch. Out of some fleeting sense of gratitude for her blood, David had draped a blanket across the tangle of naked limbs though one breast and pink nipple were barely seen peaking out of the edge.

Marko smirked, making his way past the scene directly for the fridge.

"You're a sick man, David," he said, half-heartedly.

The thought amused him.

"Sicker than Paul?" he asked.

"Well, let's not get crazy.." Marko stated, sifting through the fridge. "By the way, it's been really quiet without him. Think you could ground him to the cave for eternity?"

The exhale of smoke revealed a grimace. "He'd still find a way to raise hell."

"You made him what he is," Marko pointed out, slamming the fridge shut and looking through the various cupboards.

Another release of blue-gray smoke. "Don't remind me."

The noise from the man next-door had finally stopped and the woman with the kids had turned the volume up, drowning out the sounds of their continuous crying. With a sigh, he began to put those boots back on.

Marko's pillaging continued from the half-kitchen out into the half-living room, overturning the chairs, messing up the objects resting on the various counters and making a beeline straight for the girl's room. Making it look as though she'd been involved in a break-in/rape-murder. Not the victim of a vampire.

It was between tying his left boot and finishing that cigarette did the first wave hit him. It was almost electric--painful as well as sensual and somehow gratifying. It stopped him dead for a few moments, eyes staring in confusion at the dead girl before glancing around the empty apartment and feeling the second wave hit even harder than the first. It pulled at him, dragging slowly across his heart with all the sharpness of dull fingernails. A third hit and by that time, Marko was stumbling out from the bedroom a confused and suddenly fearful look in his eyes.

There was only one thing that could cause such a feeling…

* * *

"No more, please… I'm not going to be able to drive back…"

The sound of her voice seemed far and out of focus as hands reached out and pushed the rocker back, shaking her head as he raised the bottle up to give her another drink. Dark whiskey, the good kind. Less than fifteen minutes in the cave and already the blonde punk had pulled out the drink and persuaded her to take several shots before the music was turned up to a thunderous volume and Dolly was coaxed up on the fallen, cement banister, dancing.

Now she remembered why she never attended parties, even in college. She was a horrible dancer. The alcohol helped to unfreeze a few of her limbs and uneasy steps were taken back and forth, a shake of the hips and a turn of the head. Paul only laughed.

"Babe, babe… just chill. Move with the music and don't think about it," he said, reaching out to take her hands up and gently "jirate" her from side to side. They danced like this for a few moments before calloused fingers had released her and suddenly she found herself copying his wild movements, shaking her head, her chest and the rest of her body. Jumping from pillar to pillar, stopping only to mock the movements of the sixties go-go dancers.

It was, in it's own way, absolutely freeing.

She'd never danced so wildly before, without restraint or fear of embarrassment. With Paul, there seemingly was none as he himself was lost to the music of the Doors, Jim's voice screaming into the microphone and each shot of that liquid provoking him to move faster and wilder with each moment. He'd come at her with those sharp eyes buried within her own and lips grinning a wolfish smile. The bottle was held up for another shot.

"No.. no, I can't. I gotta drive back home and at this rate--" she protested.

"Hell, you can stay here tonight, Doll. Didn't you say you needed to talk to Dwayne? Trust me, the dude's a stiff and this is the only way you'll ever understand a word that comes out of his mouth," blue eyes flashing as he spoke.

Well… one more wouldn't kill her…

"Dolly?"

At first, she couldn't identify the voice that had called her name. At first she couldn't seem to remember why she was actually here and that the entire experience had merely been to keep Paul's back turned while James moved through the cave, collecting the tape recorder and any other piece of incrementing evidence that they could use against these kids. To say she had forgotten was an understatement.

For a few moments, Paul had taken her away from the dingy depths of this dark and threatening cave; taken her to multi-colored world of a Doors music video. The desert in all it's vastness with serpents baring fangs that dripped with poison, to the streets of L.A. where women dressed in scantily clad outfits and rode home with strangers, oblivious to the danger they put themselves in. To the bedroom and…

"James!"

The sound of her own voice--the voice of sudden reason--was almost startling. It took Paul a moment longer to realize who had entered the cave though when he did, lips curled and the bottle was suddenly set aside as he advanced, looking at James as though the man had just ruined his good time.

And in a way, he had.

"Who the fuck invited you?" Paul said, stumbling a moment over fallen debris before he managed to start directly for James.

For a moment, James seemed almost stunned. In his hands he held both the tape-recorder and a single, leather-bound book that looked to be old and nearly falling apart. Rubber-bands were stretched across it's surface and papers were already beginning to shift and come out around the edges.

Before either had a chance to speak, Dolly was up and running for the exit. The intoxication hit hard at the first few steps, sending her world in a complete spiral before fear managed to sober her enough to make it for the jagged rocks. Her wounded hand was throbbing as she clutched them, sending silvers of pain through her arm and back down her spine with each movement. It wasn't long before James followed in suit.


	20. Girl Fight

"Doll, wait!"

It happened too fast. Despite the fact that he had supernatural speed, it was all but useless when he was too dizzy to stand straight, let alone make a beeline for the front of the cave to stop a potential victim and her boyfriend. Still, he'd tried. The bottle was dropped to the ground as legs stiffened and carried him to the entrance as fast as he possibly could… stumbling numerous times, of course, and barely making it to the edge of the jagged stones before the two were up and out of the cave entirely.

"Shit!"

David had forbidden him to leave the cave. It wasn't just a threat, the man's powers could easily ensnare Paul's body, forcing him through such agony and confusion that there would be no chance but to retreat back into the confines of his home, secluded and cut off from his parties until his three days were up.

At least he wasn't stuck being Max's bitch for that amount of time.

Bottom lip was bitten as he reached up, letting fingers drift to the upper confines of the entrance. The searing heat was unexpected and in a sudden snarl, he let his hand drop entirely with a slam of that fist against the stones.

Fuck…

By sheer luck, Fate had delivered him Dwayne's former meal and by the same instances, she'd been ripped away just as fast along with her boyfriend who had seemingly materialized out of thin air. How long had he been in the cave, watching them dance together, was beyond Paul. But the fact remained… he was alone and his one chance at blood was gone. Scratch that, two chances.

James could have been seconds.

A sigh.

Dropping back down to the main floor, hollow legs took him to the moth-eaten couch where he collapsed and sat for a moment, in private thought. Or something close to it. The bottle had been filled with God knows what but it was damn good shit and he'd wasted half of it on a woman who managed to escape before he could feed on her. Or sleep with her--whichever had come first. David would have been pissed if he realized what Paul had been doing but at the same time, he didn't _invite _Dolly to come back.

She'd come on her own to talk to Dwayne.

Leg threw itself up over the armrest while hands began to dig beneath the sour-smelling cushions, scrambling until he managed to unearth a torn and crinkled magazine.

Playboy Vintage, 1963. The girls never aged, never grew boring with their flower child smiles and flamboyant poses. Though it wasn't much to compare with what was out today, the imagery was still hot in his own mind and the fact that they were only partially nude left his imagination to fill in the blanks. Immediately, he turned to his favorite; a dark haired beauty from Latin America, sleek and tender with large eyes that reminded him of another woman's some years back. Her memory was fogged deep in his mind but he knew she was important to him in some way.

As usual, the woman in the picture was smiling and splaying her legs, letting those velvet gloves touch along the inner portions of her thigh. Paul smiled back, following in sync when---

"Why are you always looking at her?"

Eyes snapped up, expecting to see Dolly standing at the entrance of the cave like the ghost from fucking Christmas Past.

Nothing.

"Down here, Paul."

Gaze fell to the magazine in his hands. Did it just… talk to him?

"Not the magazine, you idiot! _Me!"_

Fingers tensed, uncurling the second page that had been wrapped around the first, allowing him to focus solely on his Dark Haired Latin. The girl on this page he'd never paid too much attention to. Not that, had she materialized out of thin air, he would kick her out of bed. But her red hair and doll-like persona didn't mesh quite so well. Her eyes flashed from the crinkled page as hands, that were originally positioned on her hips, crossed over large, exposed breasts and mouth curved down into a mean pout.

Fuck… this had to be a dream. He hadn't fed in the last sixteen hours and was starting to hallucinate from lack of blood.

"Oh really Paul, is that the best excuse you can come up with?" she asked suddenly, her voice as scalding as the look on her face.

"I uhh…"

"You _uhhh? _Really, Paul. Every time you pull out this magazine you always go for her. What does _she _have that I don't have? C'mon, answer me seriously."

"Well.. I mean.. you just…" he couldn't think up a good excuse.

"Maybe it's because I'm better looking than you, honey. I mean come on, what _don't _I have?" The second voice appearing from the page next to the red heads. The Latin beauty, batting those eyelashes at Paul while giving a sneer to the woman next to her.

It was impossible. Whether from lack of feeding meshed with alcohol consumption and some weed he'd smoked earlier in the night, the red head made a dart from her page and pose, moving swiftly towards the Latin woman and slapping her across the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed throughout the cave as well as the sullen cry from the pretty Bonita.

But she didn't stay that way for long.

Eyes became as wide as dinner plates, watching as the two women went for each other, full fist and cuff. While a part of him knew that there was no way this couldn't be happening, the other part simply didn't give a fuck and the creeping sensation that had slivered along his thighs was returning as the two, semi-naked girls fought.

It was everything a perverted male fantasy could hope for: hitting, scratching, pulling hair and prudent shrieks after each blow was met. The scene went on for a good five minutes until the Latin woman managed a hard punch to the side of the red head's face. Hard enough that even Paul could feel the sting.

"Whoa! Whoa! Stop it, both of you!" he said, fingers tense and sweaty as they gripped the page.

The red head was still recovering--thankfully with all her teeth while Bonita glanced over, body swollen and sweaty as her chest heaved.

"C'mon now… is that any way to behave, you guys?--I mean.. girls," he couldn't really believe he was saying this but damn! Porn stars were vicious fighters.

The girls glanced at each other a moment, pouting and rubbing the fresh bruises along their bodies.

He nodded. "You two should be ashamed. You both know I've looked at every girl inside this magazine a dozen times over and just because I don't focus on one in particular _all the time, _doesn't mean I find them any less attractive."

Damn, he was good. Another glance at each other, mouths still in fleshy pouts.

"Now… why don't you two hug each other and say you're sorry."

A beat… both girls shedding icy glances before softening and moving forward to wrap their arms around each other in a careless hug. Well, careless at first.

Paul grinned. "Okay… now say your sorry and give each other a kiss on the cheek."

They hesitated, giving him suspicious looks before each said they were sorry and kissed the other girl upon the cheek.

"Very good. Now.. Bonita… spank Red Riding Hood on the ass and tell her she's been a very, _very _bad girl."


	21. Shadows and Vengence

It was serious.

The game had ended the minute I had pressed play on the recorder and the voices of the boys had filled the room. One in particular sounding like a small child's. Had it been played at any other time, on any other case that I was assigned, I would have shrugged my shoulders and brushed it off. Laughing at how well "played" the scene was, comical in its entirety.

But it wasn't funny. Not now. Not with Dolly passed out on my couch and a leather-bound book in my possession, dated as far back as 1708 with cryptic words and descriptions that would likely take all night to work through. It was written in fast-hand cursive. As a journalist, I should be fluent in such manuscript but sadly, I'm one of the rare cases that never mastered the cursive writing style. Faster my ass. It would take me a week to decipher a damn paragraph.

But the main source of evidence and my unease came from the tape itself.

From the child's voice that spoke with such clarity and confidence that it wasn't like any child I had ever heard before. Ignorant but knowing at the same time.

And then, there was Dolly.

Fifteen minutes. It couldn't have been longer than that and the woman had gotten hammered with Paul and had been up, strutting and teasing the kid to the beat of the Doors "Light My Fire." She'd rambled the entire way back to his house, slurring drunkenly on how she "knew" that their story would be the best one that the magazine had ever printed. How we would expose the boys for the vampires that they were and then… well, she'd fallen short of a coma.

The tape was rewound and I held back from pressing the play button once more.

Instead, I turned my attention towards the book, letting fingers skim over the leather surface that was soft and worn from years of fingers clutching hold of it and pulling it back like freshly peeled skin. The first page was a torment of scribbles that I'd only glanced at briefly before, but now turned on the desk lamp and began to focus solely on their madness.

_November 12, 1708_

_I can not describe it. No poet, no matter how gruesome or logic no matter how keen, can put into words the feeling that is devouring my insides one by one. Sinfully leaving my heart for last. _

_It's like a plague eating away at my body, rotting it before my very eyes and causing me to grow impatient, furious and lustful for something I dare not even write. Last night--it must have been then in which I contracted this sickness. _

_This rot._

_Though my mind is fogged and unsure of the events, I remember enough up to where the glass of absinthe was given to me, laced with sickly sweet poison that the Nobleman named Maxwell, ensured me was nothing more than a few drops of morphine. _

_Lord God and Son, save me from this affliction!_

_I was at his table in my father's stead, sitting amongst the nobles of the village, listening to them suffuse the air with nonsense when the glass was given! It was Maxwell! Bloody, uncouth, scoundrel!_

_Without second thought, I took it and drank with no more thought than receiving the Holy Communion! Damn it all! And while my father lied in bed, blind with sickness and waiting for my return, I drank! I can not decipher what was real after the first drop of poison hit my lips. There were screams, shatters, blood coated the food we were to dine upon and Maxwell…_

_Maxwell…_

The words fell off. Ripped away from the page as though someone had jerked the writer from their seat and forced the ink from their pen or tablet, to spill out along the front of the page. Turning the page, there were no more dates, only scribbling. Setting the book down, I blinked my sore eyes and allowed fingers the luxury of rubbing them. It would take several more cups of coffee and time I didn't have to decipher the rest of the cryptic writing. No more dates, however, equaled no further clues to the mystery.

The ring from the phone nearly sent me flying from my chair.

Fuck.. It was only one in the morning though it felt as though I'd been up for ages, sifting through the conversation on the tape recorder and typing everything I could read from the book. The sharp sound from the phone set my nerves on edge as I reached for the white receiver, knuckles gripping tightly as my voice answered, barely above a whisper.

"Hello?"

"James?"

Kinsely. I almost died with relief at hearing the prick's voice.

"Christ, do you know what time it is?" I asked, trying to keep my tone cool and totally unsuspicious.

Cockiness was short-lived. Something wasn't right in the man's tone. "James, I don't have time to explain. Get down here right now."

* * *

She was dizzy.

God, was she dizzy. Every movement was burdened with a sudden, aching heaviness that weighted down her limbs and caused her head to press against the cool glass of the warm interior of the truck. One moment she had burned, infused with such energy that she'd almost told James to turn around and send her back to the cave where she could dance wildly with Paul and Dwayne and anyone else that happened to appear during their wild plight.

Whatever liquor Paul had given her, it was damn good stuff and likely laced with something that was close to acid or even cocaine. Though she'd never tried the drugs first hand, there were many stories cataloged in the back of her mind of what such narcotics could do to the body. How they caused a person to burn with the eternal fire, forcing them to move and to think and speak like they never had before.

Now she understood why people were so addicted. It was an incredible experience.

But the high had been short and the aftermath almost unpleasant as she fell down into a spiraling darkness, feeling her heart continue to hammer inside her chest while eyes remained half-lidded and in a trance as they gazed at the passing lights.

James had been talking to her, but she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

Something about her burning up as he pressed his cool hand to her forehead and soothed away the ache of her delirious pains for a single moment in time. He was so good to her. Even if he had been an ass at first, she was starting to fall for him. Hard.

She'd been somewhere close to sleep by the time they reached his house. Her eyes were too heavy to open and she could feel his hands beneath her, hoisting her up into his arms and carrying her inside, only to be set down upon that grungy, old couch.

She'd have to thank him in the morning.

Despite feeling heavy all over and extremely tired, she was unable to fall asleep. Ears perked at the movements he made around the house, the dull hissing of her recorder as it was rewound and turned on, the conversations echoing like a dull noise in the back of her mind. She could have sworn she heard a child's voice meshed in with the back-drop of teenage banter.

And then, the phone call.

Sharp and painful, ringing twice before James answered and spoke in a low voice. Low at first… and then panicked. Apparently, something bad had happened and the man didn't even have the kindness enough to wake her and share it, before throwing a blanket over her body and heading right out the door.

Eyes tried to open. Mouth parted and released only a sigh when she'd meant to call for him to come back. She didn't want to be left alone in this house… no matter how "comforting" it might be.

Silence.

It was so complete that she almost fell into the darkness that swarmed her. Forgetting her worries, her drunkenness and each little fear that being alone was granted to her. It was the barking that slowly brought her back to semi-consciousness.

Loud, annoying bark. The kind that stemmed from a larger breed, gruff but still high-pitched enough to cause her ears to ache. Head turned, causing a wave of dizziness to overtake her and the aches to return for a single moment as she tried to find a place to burrow her ears within. The barking continued… growing worse with each passing moment. It wasn't the sound of aggression… or even simple fear. It was panic. High yips, whines and misplaced sounds were rising quicker now with the gusts of wind that pummeled against the house.

Her mind was reeling.

Try as she might, she couldn't force enough strength to move or even to open her eyes far enough to gaze at the shadows that swarmed around her. The wind was growing harsher, the barking more desperate and the pounding in her head so sharp that it might have been a knife stabbing repeatedly into her skull.

And finally…

a crash.


	22. Trap

The room was a wreck.

It was as though a miniature hurricane or tornado had formed and blown through it, leaving shards of glass, broken light fixtures and papers scattered and torn right in half. The only problem with this theory, however, was that the building was no where near the ocean and tornado's don't come very often to California.

We stood silent amongst the chaos. Policemen doing much of the same as they spoke quietly amongst themselves and pretended that they knew what they were doing as they stood looking at the locks on the door, the broken windows and the upturned typewriters and copy machines.

For the first time in my career, I actually felt sorry for Kinsely.

The man was stark white, staring at the wreckage with a growing weariness that seemed to weigh down his body as it sagged and leaned against the wall. He was only blearily aware of my presence as I came to stand in front of him, hands in my pockets and words lost to the flutter of papers that shifted with a cool breeze passing through the open room.

Hardy old bastard that he was, however, shock began to pass and demeanor became more business-like as he pushed off from the wall. Glancing to the cops before acknowledging me, the bullfrog croaked: "Don't take anything for evidence. We're going to salvage whatever we can, hire some repairs for the windows and a cleaning agency for the rest of the building."

The cop tried to argue, saying something about catching whoever had done this but the old man shook his head, already turning away from the younger man.

"Son, there's no point. They either got what they wanted or didn't find it and won't be attempting this again," he said, clarity in his voice like a fine needle pricking into the skin.

Unconsciously, I followed his movements through the wreckage, watching as he stepped over papers and moved to where his own desk had been upturned and ransacked. I knew what was on his mind. Knew it before those dried, crackling lips opened and hidden fangs released their venom.

"This had better be a damn good story, James. If it costs me a months delay in production, it's coming out of your paycheck," he stated flatly.

But I could hear the stifled anger in his voice. Real anger. The kind that can get a man fired.

I retaliated.

"Look," I said, making sure my tone was even and not above the conversation level. "I did what you asked me to. I _told you _I didn't want any part of this--that these people are fucking freaks but you just had to have your award-winning vampire story. Do you have any idea the risk you put me and Dolly in?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment and I pressed my point.

"You want to dock my paycheck? Fine. Just don't be expecting me to come in to work the next morning."

Word of advice for aspiring journalists and/or employees. Only under extreme circumstances do you play the card that I just did. Because honestly, replacements aren't _that hard _to find.

The old man's eyes met with my own. Over the years I had grown fearful of them, the black, soulless orbs that could draw a person in and hold them there for as long as he desired, raping them of any sense of dignity, logic and feeling. But the past few days had hardened me as well and I wasn't about to succumb to his voodoo mind tricks that erased reality from me more times than I can count.

I looked away and towards the floor, reaching down to pick up a sheet of typed paper.

"You honestly think that they did this? That… what's his name… Paul? That he's the one responsible?" The softness in his tone was unexpected and without warning, I looked up and into his eyes once more.

It was one thing to see my boss so beaten down and out of his normal, self-assured attitude. But it was another to almost hear a note of fear in his voice.

"Do you really think that they are vampires?" he asked softly.

The night before came screaming back into my head. Watching in slow-motion as Dolly stumbled out from the recesses of the cave, hand bleeding and Dwayne walking casually behind her, a smile that was coldly compassionate across his face. And Paul… his own had been twisted. I was easily able to play it off as the drugs but each time I thought on it, the hair-raising sickness overtook my body. Panic. Plain and simple.

I shook my head. "I don't know what to believe, Kinsely. And I don't doubt that Paul had a hand in this, but he's not the only one there. And he's certainly not the leader."

We stood in silence for a moment, the backdrop of the voices around us muting into a single, drawn out whine. It was the young cop that again, broke the spell.

"Sir, are you at least going to report anything missing?" he asked, pad and pen already in hand.

Apparently, he was the grunt of the troop. The one made to ask all the questions, listen to the listless descriptions of who or what could have done this and report back to his superiors with a token of knowledge and pat on the back. I gave a quick glance around the room, wondering if anything had been taken.

So far, despite everything being in ruptured chaos, there were no signs of anything being stolen.

Tables were overturned, chairs bent and broken, papers torn in half and windows smashed. They hadn't done much damage to the typewriters (likely because most are of the "old school" model that are made entirely out of impenetrable metal) though some of the ribbons had been torn out and strewn around the room. But everything could be replaced with little to no ease. Journalism isn't exactly an industry hiding any forbidden jewels.

Kinsely seemed to know this already and shrug his shoulders. "If there were, we wouldn't know about it for probably a month or so. And anyways, everything can be replaced and reorganized. Go on, there's nothing to take down."

The young man looked skeptical as he reluctantly walked back to the feeding frenzy that his brother's in blue had started.

I glanced over at Kinsely. "You know… and I'm not saying that it is them, but if it was… why here? I mean, I mentioned to Paul I was a writer, but I didn't even mention journalism or that I worked here."

The old man stared at me for a brief moment, trying to follow my train of logic.

I continued. "And even if they did… what the hell were they looking for? How would they know I was writing a story about them?"

The old man lifted a finger in thought, tapping it against his chin as those eyes scanned the room once more, as though deciphering some kind of clue or message that was hidden within the mess upon the floor.

"You know what this looks like… " he mused quietly. ".. a set up."

I gave him a questioning glance.

He nodded. "I mean.. sure, things are messed up. But they aren't destroyed. Nothing's missing and if you didn't tell them that you were a journalist or gave any reason to believe you were a threat… well, what's left? It's almost like this is all just to get our attention or draw it away from something."

I stood for a single moment in thought. Draw away from something? But what could they possibly want to distract me from--

The image was instant, like a hot poker stabbing through my heart and freezing it completely.

Dolly.

She wasn't a true professional yet, only one in training and still making errors here and there that I had kept my mouth shut long enough until she made to correct them on her own. Tonight… with Paul… she couldn't have possibly told him that they were really journalists doing a story, right?

I remembered her rambling; the drunken speech in the car of how she was certain that our story would be the greatest one that the magazine had ever published. That _we _would be the greatest supernatural journalists the world had ever seen. And then she went on about something to do with hair and how she wanted to cut it but I hadn't paid any attention.

The memory had sparked a sudden notion.

She'd been drunk… with Paul and the kid had gotten _everything _out of her while I had fumbled at the back and stole the tape-recorder and the journal.

Kinsely recognized the look on my face, but there was no time to explain. Turning, I slammed into the young officer, back for a second round of questioning and without apologizing, I rushed for the door.

Voices were lost to the sudden gusts of wind around me. My own heartbeat racing as I made for my truck, fingers scraping against the tight hold of my jeans to pull out my keys and jam them in the lock. My breath was muddled and anxious. How, how could I have been so stupid to leave her there alone? To leave the entire story and journal, everything we had obtained out in the open and for the taking?!

I struggled with the lock, with the wind screaming in my ears and blonde hair falling in my face, stinging my wet eyes.

Finally jamming the key into it's hole, I turned the lock and made to open the door when I felt a tap at my shoulder. Expecting to see Kinsely I turned around---

---and the smooth portion of a crowbar smacked the back of my head.

The faces of the teenagers were somewhat familiar as I crumpled to the ground before them. Blonde hair in a semi-crew cut, bangs tipped in black and falling over gleeful eyes. Their faces were warped as though they were staring at me from behind twisted panes of glass.

"Thanks for the ride, pops!" one of them yelled as he opened the door and slid inside, his friends following in suit.

The last thing I remembered was the sound of the engine and the young cop I had rudely shoved aside, yelling as he ran out into the street.

* * *

She couldn't recall feeling the wind as it rose around her body, screaming in and out of her ears and tangling against that hair that caught along the arms of her carrier. She couldn't remember it, but the chill was still fresh against her skin as she cowered and crooned wearily upon the stiff mattress that they'd placed her upon.

She couldn't open her eyes. The world instantly spun and tore in spasms, spitting out delusions that coupled with an uncontrollable dizziness that made her want to heave. Too much, whatever had been in the whiskey, they'd given her to much of it and now she was likely going to die from some kind of poisoning. She wanted to call out, to cry and to force herself onto her side but couldn't.

Instead she merely lay limp and listen to the voices around her.

They came in blurbs, some familiar while others were fresh in their viciousness as they spoke without restraint.

"… _really fucked up this time, Paul. I swear to God I'm going to---"_

"_Don't fucking pin this on me, David! You need to mark your shit down better and not choose any fucking bottle…"_

"_It __**is**__ your fucking fault, Paul! And yours too, Dwayne! You both should have killed them when you--"_

"_Right, with two fucking cops in the backdrop. Fuck you, Marko."_

"_**ENOUGH."**_

The shout was burdened with a sudden, wracking power that sent a dozen needles stabbing all at once through her veins. She cried out, though it came as nothing more than an aching choke. The voices paused and for a moment, she was almost certain she could hear the ocean moving in the background. The flutter of soft wings and coos from somewhere above her.

The first voice was back in charge.

"_Look, it's already done so there's no use in tearing each other to pieces or telling Max about it. We'll just have to draw him out. Keep her alive long enough to get him here and kill them both."_

Kill who? James?

The voices around the first were silent, though all at once, they seemed to agree with it's statement. The tension in the air had gone and suddenly the sound of a revving engine was heard echoing around her. Christ, she'd never known hallucinations to be this vivid. At least… by this point she was praying that it was the final portions of her mind firing off. That all of this was a dream that she would soon wake up from.

The revving stopped and in moments, the sounds of two new voices entered through the cave. Laughing, they sounded reasonably young, if not a bit drunk on their own foolishness as grew closer with each passing moment.

"_We got it, David!"_

"_His truck?"_

"_Yea, man. Fucking bastard didn't know what hit him! Literally!"_

"_Yea, he won't be getting up any time soon!"_

There was a jingle, something close to the sound of keys that were tossed through the air and snatched just as quickly.

The new voice continued. _"So where's our dope?"_

There was a silence in the air before--

"_Paul will show you. It's in the back."_

"_Awesome! Lead the way, Paul."_

The footsteps carried a sense of uncertainty, as though they were stumbling over various objects and clutters in their path. The new voices continued in their babble, growing ever more distant as the moments wore on.

"_You're getting soft, David."_

The first voice, now assumed to be David, gave a sigh.

"_After catching him talking to his magazine, I don't want to know what two more days is going to do to his psyche."_

"_Pff… you're just a sucker when he pulls that neophyte shit."_

Silence seemed to thicken once more, but was cut off by a pair of identical screams.


	23. A Glimpse

I was falling.

My body was suspended somewhere in between my last acid hit that took place in the grunge basement of a local clientele in the late sixties and the scatter of thoughts I had read in the scribbled diary. I was gripped by a solid thread that had laced itself deep within my veins and drug them out from beneath the skin, causing me agony as I stewed and struggled to break free.

The dreams were dark at first; I could barely make out their gray and watery patterns from beneath the dimmed cloud of pain filtering through my mind. But like all good things, the substance cleared enough to where I managed to see the bleakness of those writings. The dinner party that was seated at a large, robust table full of equally weighty individuals draped in all different colors and patterns of fabric. Everywhere from gold, to amber and deep maroon, styled in various robes, pants, vests and long-sleeved shirts. The kind of wardrobe actors use when portraying something as corny as Shakespeare.

Let's not fool ourselves: nobody, _ever _talked like that in the 1600s.

But through the mist and shadows, their bulbous and colorful clothing contrasting heavily to stark, white faces and hair that was pinned or hidden underneath a wig of curls, two men sat close together, nearly shadowed by the dim candle light. One was a man I didn't really recognize. His face was average, if not a bit on the comical side with indents ands and age markings in all the right places. Deep lines that didn't seem quite right, but you wouldn't say anything about them because that would be rude. His hair was brushed back, captured in a single pony-tail and forgotten as it hung limply over his shoulder. His dress was little more than fashionable compared to the other guests, but it had it's certain, _foppish_, taste.

The man he sat next to was far more intriguing with a face that seemed far too familiar, though I couldn't place where I might have seen him before. Young, wild and vibrant. A hair of white-blonde streaming untamed from his head, down upon those shoulders and nearly dipping to his chest. Face was composed of sharp features and striking, blue eyes that could silence a man with a single stare and the notion that he would never back down from anything. His attire was black, if not a bit worn around the edges. But his smirking smile made up for it as he raised his glass of crystal and green substance, laughing at something the older gentleman said.

I could say that the vision lasted hours. It sure as shit felt as though an eternity was slipping by and while I could see everything through the haze, the sounds they made were fuzzy and far away. But the scream… it was enough to rip the entire dream apart.

Like an edge of steel striking hard against a crystal glass, the images vibrated and tore around the edges. Suddenly, there were no colors--only red. Gushes and gushes of red. It poured from the glasses in rivets that trickled around the table, across the half-eaten food and collected around the gathering of bodies that lie atop it. Powdered throats were torn out, eyes were like glass as they stared in wide, uncomprehending horror at the scene before being blinded by death.

The young man was roaring. Blood drenched his once proud mane of blonde hair and hands were up against his eyes, as though he would rip them free of their sockets and forever rid himself of the horrific scene. Men, women, there were even a few who looked to be children, all dead and in sudden states of rot.

That's when I realized the game that had been played.

They'd been there all along… puppets with strings, strung up and performed so that the young man would see everything as it was meant to be. The older man was a magician and for one reason or another, felt the need to display his power over the other by creating such a charming illusion before snatching it away in a cruelly, playful fashion. They'd been dead the entire time, rotting away as the young man sat, listening to their merry words and speaking with the older gentleman.

And while I could, in a sense, see a usefulness for such a trick, the one played on the food was far too devious, even for a man who loves horror. It too, had been sitting for some time in a state of rot. The toasted bread was crawling with maggots and dark-colored beetles. The cherries were filled with smaller, white bugs that picked their way through the red mess and the meat he had been eating was none other than impaled rats and what could only be described as flesh that had been partially devoured and left to stew with the other fabulous dishes of this hideous table.

I could feel vomit collecting in the back of my throat.

The young man was one step ahead of me as he heaved the contents of his stomach, most consisting of that green liquid, into his lap and thrashed his head from side to side as the older man watched in silent amusement of the scene.

The fuzzy noise had turned into a drawn out, high-pitched whine that almost resembled someone choking on their own tongue. If I knew where my head was, I would have clutched at my ears. The young man seemed to hearing the same as he let loose another terrified cry and threw his head back with hands clamped tightly to his ears.

The older man was suddenly in front of him, a hand pressed firmly to his throat and keeping him steady as he spoke in a gentle tone. "Calm, David. It will all be over soon."

The vision wavered once more, lapsing back and forth between the scene of red death and the scene of rot. It was impossible to know which was real and which was all in his head. I didn't care which it was by this point, I wanted it to end---

"NOW."

My voice echoed throughout the room as my body lurched forward, spine snapping straight up as my eyes opened and light stung through the tears. White… nothing but pure white and blessed silence… at least until---

"Jesus Christ, James!"

I felt the old man before I saw him, rough, sand-paper hands gripping my shoulders tightly and drawing me back down upon the crinkling mattress of… a bed?

Images flooded. Tasteless, green walls surrounding on all sides, a multi-colored print of two Basset hound puppies sitting in a basket surrounded by daisies, a step-on scale, baby-blue cabinets, a trash-can filled with used bandages and bloodied gauze pads, a large, black and white machine with hook-ups and wiring I would never be able to understand and an IV sticking straight into my arm.

Well, that explained the pain in my nerves.

Though it took me a second longer to realize that I was actually laying in a bed and the old man, bless his black heart, was sitting next to me, holding me down.

My breathing came out in shivers and I suddenly realized that I was covered in icy sweat. The dream… it had been so real…

"James… are you alright? Do you know where you are?" Kinsely asked, his hands remaining on my shoulders.

It took me a moment. I don't usually dream but I had a feeling that the IV in my arm had something to do with the vivid nightmare, and a few seconds later, confirmed such a notion.

"You're in the hospital, James. You took a blow to the back of the head and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I think the doctor gave you some drugs or something. Possibly for the pain. Do you understand?" His face was as close to worried as I'd ever seen it.

I finally managed the hint of a smile. "I am so glad I listed medical bills under this contract."

The worried look dissolved in an instant and the hardness returned, even if his hands didn't remove themselves just yet.

"Well, unfortunately there was no brain-damage or memory loss," he said dryly, glancing me over once before releasing me entirely. "But goddamit if you weren't acting as though you were possessed."

I relaxed fully back against the bed, blearily aware that I was undressed and in one of those ridiculous, blue hospital gowns. The kind where they forgot to sew in the back. Damp, blonde hair clung to my face and my eyes became half-lidded as the adrenaline faded and reality began to set in. I shook my head.

"What do you mean, possessed?" I asked.

A hand moved up through his white hair as shoulders shrugged. "Exactly what the word means. You were talking, moving around and acting as though something were trying to attack you. It's the most riled I ever seen you, James. Those must have been intense nightmares."

For a moment, I was silent. Reliving the vivid images through the fogged maze, seeing the beautiful colors, the older man and the younger man. David. I suddenly realized where I had seen his face before.

The beach. The night Dolly and I had gone out walking, waiting for the vampires to appear. The girl in the white bikini, running through the sand and begging David to make the others stop their chase. He'd only looked at her and grinned.

And it was that moment, that I thought of Dolly herself.

"Shit! How long have I been out?" I asked frantically.

For the second time in history, Kinsely seemed genuinely startled but quickly covered face as he shook his head. "Only a few hours. Like I said, they gave you something and--"

I moved for the IV and jerked it out of my arm. The pain was sharp but I could barely feel it as I jumped out of bed and began to search for my clothes. Kinsely and a nurse, appearing like a phantom out of nowhere, immediately wrestled me back down.

"You're not going _anywhere_, James. You're staying and resting for a few more hours, it's already been paid for and I'll be damned if I waste good money on foolishness!" Kinsely said through grit teeth.

I didn't listen. I didn't care. If I didn't do something fast, they would get her. Maybe they already had.

Before I knew it, a second nurse had entered and called for help and a doctor was there, helping the others to secure me back down in those crusty, soaked sheets. The world spun around me; the IV was wrenched back into my arm and before I could speak or attempt to threaten with an attorney, the world turned black once more.


	24. Child Vampire

It was the smell that woke her. Old ashes, drifting heavily through the air from incense that had long since been blown away by the ocean breeze, matched with the dire smell of cigarettes, sour weed and something else. Something she couldn't name.

Eyes were sore as they opened, fearing the light for a few moments as they blinked and hid against her palm. Her body was cold and clammy, still dressed in the now ruffled mesh shirt with the black corset resting atop of it and the tight, leather leggings that had received several fresh nicks and cuts from the night before. And even though eyes were blind, Dolly knew exactly where she was and though she wasn't sure exactly how she had gotten there, it was enough to make her skin crawl.

Memories flashed in her mind. The ride back to James' house and then the utter silence with a neighbor's dog barking continuously. The rush of dark wind and sky, dozens of stars pouring in and out of her mind as eyes had opened and closed while feeling weightless and almost free.

And then… the drop.

Eyes fluttered open long enough to catch the sight of the cave, now doused in daylight that poured in from above. The sound of seagulls and the waves crashing against the cliff, filled the air and for a single moment, calm overcame her. To see the sun. To know that she was still alive even as her mind tried to reason with how much danger she was in, how impossible it was that she had been flying unconsciously the night before and that James would never find her.

It lasted no longer than second, but it was all she needed to pull herself up to unsteady feet and make a slow tread to the entrance of the cave.

Funny that it was so familiar now, as though she'd walked the same path a dozen times in different situations.

The only difference was how slow she moved and how utterly drained she felt. Limbs were weighted down with fatigue and body groaned with each step, wanting nothing more than to go back to the moth-eaten bed and sleep.

It was either the booze or something that they'd done to her when she was passed out. Voices had streamed in and out of her dreams as well as faces and visions of the boys that were supposed vampires. Creatures of the goddamned night and yet, when daylight came around, they were nowhere to be seen. No coffins anywhere around the cave. They were likely all back at their parents houses, sleeping in the basement with the shutters drawn and action figures lined up on their dressers.

Paul had lied to her, they didn't live in this cave.

In some ways, it allowed for a bitter sense of comfort. Even if their story was a fake, it was at least comforting to know that all they had been was a lot of talk and no show, despite the cut to her hand made by nail boy. The stream of negative thoughts continued to flow through her mind as she began to climb up the jagged slope that led out into the sun-drenched cliff side when suddenly, there was a noise.

It was meek; a creature in it's final moments, letting loose a last and final cry before death swooped down to claim it and the smell of piss from it's bladder emptying, filled the air. Body froze in place as eyes squinted and searched through the gathered shadows that lined the walls, seeking the source for such a sound.

It wasn't long before she found it.

He was kneeling. At first, it almost appeared as though the small child were praying as arms lifted up to his face and dirty, brown hair fell in such a way that it clouded those serene features. It took a second glance, however, to see that, instead of folded together, hands were wrapped around something. Something still breathing and letting loose the meek and fearful sounds.

A cat.

She'd never really had an infinity for such animals. As much as she'd wanted one when she was younger, her parents had told her no and the only pet she could really now day with such a busy schedule was a goldfish. Still, she was instantly disgusted and curious about what the boy was doing to the small animal. Enough to fall back from her intended escape and approach the boy silently from behind.

She didn't get more than a few feet before his body froze and in a split second, he was standing, the creature dropping from his hands to the ground, already dead and sprinkling blood along the sandy, cave floor. But that wasn't the only place. A ring of red dripped along the boy's mouth, coating small lips and dirt-covered cheeks and chin. Large, blue eyes stared up at her in wonder through equally filthy brown locks and for a moment, Dolly was lost for words.

Had he been… drinking the cat's blood?

The idea made her sick to her stomach but at the same time, her heart immediately went out to him, nurturing that mothers instinct she'd claimed never to have had.

This was the one… the Laddie she had heard on the tape. The kid who wanted to go to school but was denied his rights by the others. And now… they were teaching him to drink blood?!

The silence abruptly ended as the pocket knife he'd held in his hands clanked to the floor and small body poised to run.

"Wait!" she said, holding up her hands and taking a step forward. "It's okay.. I won't hurt you, I promise."

The boy hesitated, taking her in fully for a moment as she approached.

"You're Laddie, right?" she asked.

After a moment, he nodded and seemed to relax a little, falling under the delusion of safety that most children do after hearing their names spoken by the stranger. Brushing aside her dark, mussed curls, she stopped a few feet away and knelt down, reaching the boy's height and staring curiously into his eyes.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

The boy was silent for a few seconds. His eyes spoke volumes of his age, but then… there was something different inside of them. Something she'd seen in Paul's eyes and in Dwayne's as well. Something that no real child should ever possess.

A hunger.

"I was feeding. David says I can't have a human until I'm older, but I'm hungry now," he whined softly.

Those sick bastards.

"They want you to drink blood?" she asked, quietly.

The boy shook his head. "Not till I'm older. Dwayne said I can drink animal blood, but I can't hardly catch them. They're too fast."

"I see…" she said, attempting to wrap her mind around the idea of a child actually believing they were a vampire. Enough to actually kill a living creature and drink it's blood. It was disgusting and yet, the sheer smell of it plagued her.

Laddie's head tilted curiously. "Who are you?"

Eyes shot back up to the kid and she managed a smile. "I'm Dolly."

"Will you take me to school?"

She was taken off-guard by this question. Of course there were many runaways and kids on the streets, but never one as young as this boy, nor actually wanting to school or living in a cave with alleged vampires who were teaching him to drink blood. Then again, the more bizarre this became, the better story it would make later, if she could only keep her damn head straight.

Either way, she had to get him out of the cave. Get him cleaned up and handed over to the police.

"Of course, I will." Spoken before a hand reached out to take the kid's own. Without hesitation, he grasped her hand with his own bloodied one and smiled.

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a pair of tiny fangs glinting against the sun.


	25. Vampire In Training

The sun was brighter than she remembered. Hanging heavily in the sky, jagged shards of light seemed to fall hard on her eyes that squinted and attempted to keep the child in sight as he excitedly ran in front of her.

"Laddie! Slow down!" It did little good. The child must have been kept in the cave for quite some time, allowed out only when the boys went somewhere and took him with.

Bounding over rocks and fallen tree limbs, they made their way through the mute forest that was etched in tire tracks, burnt trees and angry squirrels that called down from their nests, disturbed by their noise. After a few yards, the kid finally seemed to tire some and fell back in pace with Dolly, grinning up at her with those large, honey brown eyes and blood-encrusted lips.

"So how old are you?" She asked, idly brushing away the hair away from her shoulders and picking at the bandage around her palm.

"Five and a half, though I should be seven," he said, lips catching hold that wild brown hair.

A moment was taken to brush it away from his mouth, a gesture he seemed to enjoy as he let it happen again and again.

"Why do you say you should be eight?" she asked.

"Well… it's kindof hard to explain. David says that the blood Dwayne gave me made my body slow down in aging. He says Dwayne was an idiot for doing it because now I'll age twice as slow and it will take a long time for me to grow old and become a vampire. Dwayne said that I get an extended childhood and David's only mad because he as a hermit crab lodged up his ass."

The kid spoke as though his mind were a recording device all on it's own. But there was more to it than simple, child logic. He sounded more sure of himself. Smarter than any five-year old she knew and more confident as he hopped over the fallen tree trunks, splashed in the puddles and tailed easily behind her. Once or twice, she could have sworn she felt grubby fingers at her backside, feeling the fleshier parts of her thighs. Though turning, she discovered the kid was always a few steps back.

Very interesting.

Though it took nearly half the walk back to the town to suddenly realize why the name was so familiar, and so strange to be speaking.

"Laddie, where is your mother?"

Maria Gabriel. That had been her name and Laddie was supposedly the bastard child of this late seventies whore. The file report she had stolen on the woman hadn't been filled with very nice comments on her behalf. Laddie was almost taken twice from her in the course of his short life and both times the woman had managed to get him back on the grounds that she was a good mother, supporting her child and there was no law against prostitution in California.

Even if there was, she could claim she was merely mingling with friends and "acquaintances." Even in a town like Santa Carla, it was hard to divide the normal and bizarre. Especially in the seventies when things had been a lot crazier with biker gangs, new drugs on the market and illegal activities that had been the backwash of the Love Generation and the start of the eighties.

The kid seemed to stumble. Legs stiffening and eyes staring up at the woman, as though attempting to read the joke on her face. After a moment he shrugged and carried on, walking a bit faster than normal.

"I don't know. She left," he said, head down and hair covering those eyes.

Attempting to keep up, Dolly stared down at the kid and placed a hand against his shoulder. One rule that James had managed to teach her was never to assume. Just because their names were the same as well as the blurred picture, didn't mean that their mothers were the same woman.

But they had to be pretty damn close.

And, as devious as it seemed, if trust could be built with this kid, then perhaps she would have a better lead on Maria as well as their story.

Stopping him in that gentle hold, she knelt down and brushed away dirty brown locks from that grubby face, peering into those eyes once more and trying to see the truth that was hidden behind them. Her own were gentle and concerned.

"She just left you? That's terrible… where did she go?" she asked.

The child grew more uncomfortable as the moments wore on. Fingers wringing together and eyes trying to escape to the ground below. It was clear, with the boys, he didn't have a mother-type figure. Someone to come to and confide in. To show him tenderness and love.

"I'm… I'm not suppose to talk about it," he said, uneasily. Those brown eyes managed to glance up and meet her gaze.

Dolly tried again. "I won't tell anyone. Scouts honor."

Smiling, she held up two fingers in the traditional sign of secrecy. Even Laddie wasn't too bleak to know what it meant. After a moment of hesitation, he shrugged and mumbled.

"Paul said I didn't need her anymore. That he would find me a new mommy to take better care of me. He said she left town but… I think she's still here. I see her watching me sometimes. At the end of my bed."

It didn't take much to realize what the child was saying. That his mother was dead… and that Paul had killed her. If that was the case, then every story that had circled about the kid was true. About all of them, David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko. They were vampires and their story was absolutely, honest to whatever God existed, true. Eyes fell back to the kid as his gaze lowered to the ground and nose began to sniff and huff loudly. It wasn't long before the slow stream of tears began to fall from those honey eyes and Dolly was taken aback.

"Oh, Laddie, I'm so sorry!" she said, latching hold to the kid and hugging him close.

The sniffles and huffs of breath continued as little arms wrapped around her and after a long moment, a soft SNAP was heard from behind. It took only a moment to pull away and realize what the kid had done.

"YOU LITTLE CREEP!"

The top snaps of her corset fell loose and arms struggled to clasp them back into place while Laddie giggled and ran ahead of her, through the trees. Momentarily stunned, the clasps finally fell back into place and eyes narrowed as she followed in his wake through the brush.

Apparently, the kid was picking up a few of the boys' bad habits.

* * *

"I can hear them!"

The excited shout made her pause, hand up shadowing her eyes from the sun and watching as Laddie stopped dead on the sidewalk, head tilted to the side, listening.

"Hear who?" she asked, trying to keep the agitation from her voice. While part of her wanted to help this kid, the other part was starting to detest his energy and constant movement. It wasn't his fault but it was damn annoying after awhile.

"Kids!" he said excitedly. Her own ears perked up and lo and behold, the sound of high-pitched laughter, screams and the jangle of swings was heard. They must have been near an elementary school out on recess. Shouts from kids and teachers echoed, whistles blowing every once in awhile and the hollow sound of basketballs bouncing against the concrete. Before she could stop him, Laddie was running down the sidewalk.

"Shit!"

The kid may have been annoying, but those soft, honey-brown eyes came back to her in flashes. He was smart in some ways and completely idiotic in others. Such as running out in the middle of the street.

"LADDIE! STOP!"

Thankfully, it was a street surrounding the school itself and cars were use to going only fifteen miles an hour. Darting out in front of them, Laddie managed to cross before Dolly could get to the edge of the road and follow him out into traffic. Cars honked and drivers cursed. Someone almost screamed as Dolly came in front of them and was missed by an inch. Running every step of the way, she followed the kid as he squeezed through buildings and down alleyways, coming to a stop only when he crashed into a chain-link fence that surrounded the outside of the school itself.

Panting, Dolly joined him a few seconds later, her eyes wide from fury and fear.

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing?" she tried to yell but her voice was trapped inside her gasping.

He didn't answer. Instead, eyes were locked to the scene before him, the kids running back and forth as they played tag, basketball, jump rope and fought over whose turn it was to get the swings. It was as though he were mesmerized by the entire scene; as though he'd never seen a kid his own age before.

Then it occurred to her.

If those bastards really did believe they were vampires, then they only came back at night. Therefore, the kid would only come out at night as well and she doubted there would be many his age running around the boardwalk at midnight or later. Again, her heart went out to him and a hand touched along his shoulder.

He suddenly looked at her, eyes full of a new hope. "You'll take me in there?"

For a moment, she didn't know what to say. Of course she wasn't going to take him into the school but then again, he was latched to the fence and prying his fingers off would likely cause a scene. Now she understood why James had told her not to get too involved with a story. One made stupid attachments like this.

"Yes.. I will. But…" Her mind scrambled for an excuse. "Don't you think you should get cleaned up first?"

It took the kid a moment to realize what she was saying and Dolly pressed her point. "Well, you wouldn't want the other kids to make fun of you, right? You should get cleaned up like they are. Then I'll take you to school."

Grubby fingers began to loosen their hold against the fence. Gaze lingered for a few moments longer before returning to Dolly with a hopeful look.

"You'll bring me right back, promise?" he asked, suspicion in his voice.

With out batting an eye, she nodded.

Lied.

"Promise."


	26. Unfortunate Minds, Think Alike

"Jesus Christ, James… I didn't know you were serious…"

The words were lost to the surge of wind that entered through the broken window, rattling the posters I had against the wall and the papers had gotten loose from my room, tumbling in heaps along the floor. Glass crackled beneath my boot as I stepped further inside the wrecked and mangled domain that was my home, expecting at any moment for the shadows to jump out at me or the ceiling to cave in on my head. That was about the extent of my luck.

Walls were red from the afternoon glow of the sun starting to set against the horizon. The shadows from people moving along the street created a sort of kaleidoscope against the wall and Kinsely's own form was added to the mix as the man stepped further inside, reaching for some of the fluttering papers against the ground. For several moments, I didn't respond.

The couch where Dolly had been sleeping was knocked over with the blanket torn and the pillows nothing more than shreds. And though my eyes scanned ever inch of the ratty, brown furniture and the carpet beneath, I could find no traces of blood or struggle anywhere.

Shit.

The feeling went out of my fingertips and continued all through my body until I was standing dazed, numb. I don't know what horrified me more, at that moment, the fact that she was gone or the fact that I knew who had taken her. A strange, light-headedness passed through me as I felt my legs wobble before turning to jelly.

What if she was dead?

Would they go that far--these freaks? Would they actually kill her in some ritualistic fashion of draining her blood?

The thought made me sick to my stomach and all too quickly, I fell to my knees upon the ground.

Kinsely was above me, talking rapidly but his voice kept fading in and out. His hands were on my shoulders, trying to lift up my chin and have me look him in the eye, but I was far too gone. If she was dead, then it was my fault. I was suppose to look after her, to show her the ways of _real _journalism. Not to get her kidnapped by a bunch of teenage wannabe vampires!

For a moment, my head seemed to clear at that thought. Teenage wannabe's. They were nothing more than that. Sure, they had the cool clothes, the nice bikes, the fancy, cliff-side hotel and a number of drugs to make it seem real, but in reality, what the fuck was I dealing with?

Kids.

Nothing more than kids who probably got fed up at home, wrote runaway or suicide notes and disappeared to Santa Carla to start this new, brainwashing, cult.

It all made sense now, even if my gut was still wrenching in the opposite direction. If they were nothing more than kids, then maybe there was still time. Maybe Dolly was alright, just kidnapped and being subjected to some kind of peer pressure.

Vampires or not, the boys were hardly innocent. That much was clear from the look in their eyes and the way they treated those around them. That sent a cold shiver down my spine and without waiting another moment, I jumped up, nearly toppling the old man and went directly for the phone.

Kids or not, they were smart. The cords had all been cut and ripped out of the walls.

"Little punks!" I spat, feeling my nausea return.

Turning, I immediately started for the door. "C'mon, we have to get to the police."

* * *

The napkin was cool as it made it's third round across the kid's face. Wiping away at the dried dirt and blood that seemed to collect around Laddie's mouth. She tried not to let her disgust show. It was all the more reason why she never wanted kids, cute as they were, they were really very gross.

Laddie didn't seem to sense her discomfort as he sat like a statue on the bench, back straight and eyes shut tightly as the napkin moved over and over his face. Honestly, it was only to buy some time before she managed to find the phone or lead the kid to the police station and drop him off there. But the little shit was smarter than he looked and she would have to be careful in leading him there.

The sun was slowly starting to set over the horizon and as it did, her body began to feel lighter and less strained by the heat and wash of light. The shouts from the kids at the school seemed farther and farther away and for the first time, the kid seemed to sense that something wasn't right.

"I thought you said you were going to take me to school," he said, glancing up through damp bangs of brown hair.

The napkin was set aside for a moment as she tried to think up a reasonable explanation.

"I am. But we…" her mind scrambled for an excuse. ".. we… have to go to the police first. And make sure it's okay."

The look on the kid's face was instantly fearful. Apparently, the boys back at the cave had made the word "police" illegal in his vocabulary. He fidgeted for a moment before quickly shaking his head.

"Can't you just take me there?" he whined.

Dolly countered with a sudden wipe to those cheeks and a sympathetic smile. "No, I can't. You've got to be registered first, and then you can go to school. But the police have to register you."

The fear continued to glaze over in the kid's eyes, causing those fingers to rub together and knuckles to become white from inner tension. Kneeling down, she gently placed her hand over his own and spoke in a voice that was similar to her mother's, when trying to soothe a frightened child.

"Laddie, it will be real quick, I promise. We go in, they register you, we go out. Nothing more than that. But we have to hurry because if we don't get there in time, they won't be able to let you in. Understand?"

For a moment, he seemed to consider her words--something that was rare to come by in a child of his age. Thinking things through and trying to see the logic she was telling him. After a few moments, he would nod and move to stand from that bench, reaching out to take hold of her hand.

Relief poured through her body as she took his arm and began to lead him down the street.


	27. David

The truck lurched along the road, tossing the old man back and forth as the tires bit heavily into the ground and the clutch groaned each and every time I tried to shift it.

I'll say this much, I'm not great at driving a stick. Normally, I never need to put it in third or fourth gear but today, instinct was taking over and the need to rush and get to the police station as fast as I could, was grinding in the back of my mind. That, and to get back to the cave where I was sure they were keeping Dolly hostage, force-feeding her blood, drugs or some kind of influential, vampire shit.

I slammed the clutch with the flat of my palm, working my way through the back streets and alleyways, trying to avoid the kids that were still out and playing on the main roads. Kinsely had opted to follow me in his car, but as I took off down the street, I was suddenly aware that I'd lost the man. Not that I really needed him at this point, but despite all our differences, the old man was kind of like a partner. Someone to help me up when I fell and keep the stress at a minimum, when he wasn't the one causing it.

Foot slammed hard against the break, skidding on the gravel and nearly colliding with another woman in a red car. Her fists pounded against her horn and window rolled down to further cuss me out, though I was already shifting back into third and barreling down the road.

The sun had left the sky. Only soft pigments of pink and orange illuminated the clouds and my fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel, wishing I could go even faster. Not that I really understood why. If these were nothing more than kids, then why would it matter how soon I got to the police station and led them up to the cave?

It wasn't like they were really vampires.

Pulling dangerously out onto the main road, the police station was illuminated, right up ahead. Cop cars lined the road and already, a few boys in blue were out, chatting as they leaned against the wall. Perfect.

Cutting off another woman in a blue mustang, my truck continued it's deadly course down the center of the road, coming to a dead stop right in front of the station itself. My body was vibrating from the adrenaline. Palms sweaty, vision blurred and head lost somewhere along the skyline as it descended into the clouds.

Without hesitating, I threw the truck into park, letting it die as my foot left the clutch and got out.

"Hey!"

My voice was raspy, panicked.

"Hey, I need some help!"

The cops stood their ground, eyes passing over me in curiosity while a few didn't even acknowledge my presence. They were laughing at something… someone.

A man standing in front of them, wearing a long, black overcoat with fluorescent white hair spilling over his collar in what could only be described as a semi-mullet cut. For some reason, he almost seemed to be familiar but I didn't have time to waste on retrospection. I immediately pushed past him and started in on the still-chuckling cops.

"HEY! I need some help, please!"

"James?"

I froze. For a moment, my mind was tempted to believe that it was Kinsely, standing behind me and ready to come to my aid. But I knew it wasn't him. The voice was deeper, more throaty with a hint of smoky accent that I was, again, sure I had heard somewhere else before. What seemed like an eternity was really only two seconds as I turned around and stared at the man dressed in black.

"James? From the Magazine, right?" he asked again, his tone mildly pleasant and more humorous than anything else. As though he was still recovering from the antidote he'd been telling the cops only moments before.

Again, my gut wrenched and my heart coiled in a sense of fear. He was familiar; the same face I had seen in my nightmare just the night before. The young man with the white hair who had been talking with the host of the party all night, dining on the disgusting food and unaware that all those around him had already been dead for weeks and weeks on end. Up close, in a more modern version of the man, he was still the same, errant youth that he had been in my dreams though with keener eyes that were somehow older and burdened with a sense of knowing that only older men, like myself and Kinsely, would have. He still had the white hair, the pale skin and the sharp features that could chisel a crack into any girl's heart.

I shook my head, trying to clear the strange sense of deja'vu from my mind. "Yes, I am.. But I need--"

"I really enjoy your work. What was it… that first one you ever did… werewolves?" the kid asked, a dark chuckle climbing up his throat. "Really fascinating stuff. I never knew Santa Carla had such a supernatural history."

I was impatient. "Yes, thank you, but look, I really need someone to--"

"Why don't you ever do a stories on vampires?"

The word was like the sudden jab of a needle, directly in my vein. My body tensed once more, staring at the kid and trying to read the joke on his face. There was none. In that instant, whether it was through Divine Influence or my own, semi-psychic hunches, I knew.

This was the one from the journal. David, the leader of the supposed vampire gang.

I don't know what was more disturbing at that moment, the fact that I knew who he was, or that he knew, I knew who he was. If that makes any sense, at all. It was like the climatic portion of a movie, when the hero (or as close as one gets to being one, in my case) is suddenly apprehended by the bad guy and either killed or tormented until he gives up.

The only difference, we were standing in front of a police station and there was no way in hell David would attempt anything.

But we both knew he was too clever for that.

The cops had begun to amble away from us and stupidly, I let them. If I could have done one thing different, it would have been to point at David and scream at the top of my lungs "VAMPIRE!" At least that might have gotten more of a reaction than a disgruntled man wandering around and asking for help. Cops in Santa Carla are only here for show. Whatever they can get away with, they do and only seem to enjoy waving their guns and night-sticks around at the passing crowds to keep order.

Christ, no wonder we live in such a shithole.

I turned back to David and held his stare.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked, my voice low.

The mirth that made him appear human was gone and suddenly replaced by something colder, more predatorily. I remembered seeing the very same stare from the black and white vampire on the tv at my old house. The only difference, it was an actor playing a part. And this was reality.

"Just to take a ride," he said casually, though at the same time, his eyes made a glance for the car that was parked across the street.

It took me a moment to recognize it, though when I did, my jaw dropped. It was Dolly's car. And from what I could make out, Dolly was sitting in the backseat. A small shadow hunched in between what looked to be Paul and Dwayne on either side of her with a third shadow sitting on Dwayne's lap.

If I could outrun him, make it to the car and open the door fast enough to start causing a scene, maybe I could---

The hand on my shoulder caused me to flinch as my body turned sharply and tried to knock it free. It wouldn't budge. Like cold steel seeping in through my shirt an along my shoulder, it caused the hairs on my neck to rise and my muscles to tense further, especially as fingers began to grind themselves into my shoulder blade.

I could just imagine what this looked like to those around us. Maybe a friend comforting another or some kind of gay lover, whispering erotic words into my ear. In truth, it went more like this:

"Get your hand off me right now or I'll scream and start acting as though I'm having seizures," I whispered in a low voice that filtered through clenched teeth.

Ever calm, David replied. "Do that, and you'll never see Dolly again. Who do you think the cops are going to believe? A man whose having seizures or the one who made them laugh only moments before?"

He had me. There was no way in hell I was letting Dolly leave with these punks and if it meant getting the car with them, held as a hostage, then so be it.

David seemed to sense my defeat as he nodded. "Good. Now get in the fucking car."


	28. Betrayal

The ride was silent as we made our way back through Santa Carla. The familiar streets rushed by in blurs, familiar restaurants, shops and park benches all seeming alien as we passed them at dangerously high speeds. My body was numb as I sat, avoiding the rear-view mirror that would give me a clear glimpse at Dolly and what I imagined to be large, quivering brown eyes. I didn't deserve the pleasure of looking and seeing what might have been between us. Humiliated, I sat and stared silently out the window, hoping that at any moment the car would be hit by a passing semi.

"Paul, I got to second base!"

It took a moment for the words to register in my mind, not to mention the fact that they were spoken by someone who sounded close to five.

"Oh yea? On ol' Dolly here?" Paul asked, a hint of lewdness in his voice.

The child beamed. "Yea! I unsnapped her bra-thing!"

From the sound of it, Paul had slapped the kid a high five and in a low voice, Dolly said. "Corset."

"What?" Paul asked.

"It's not a bra," she said, speaking between clenched teeth. "It's a corset. There's a difference."

"Man, I don't know why you girls torture yourselves like that. I'm totally all for that feminist shit of burning your bras. Anything that keeps those gorgeous tits from being seen," Paul said, attempting to sound diplomatic.

The kid at the wheel, a blonde minx whose curls were perhaps the best I'd seen in a long time, let out a barking laugh and reached around to slap Paul another five. David smirked and Dwayne, of course, said nothing.

I could feel the anger burning in Dolly. The humiliation she must have felt, as well. But still, I didn't look around at her in the mirror; I didn't deserve that luxury.

The car came to a lurching halt on a quiet street that had several busted street-lights, a constant barking from the dog next door and… a house with a shattered picture window. 

My house.

"What are we doing here?" I blurted out.

David turned to look at me, a smirk set against those icy features. 

"We're here to get your story, my journal and a bag of everything your going to take with you when you leave town," he stated matter-of-factly. 

"Leave town?" I asked dumbly. Though, in all essence, I should have expected this.

Paul nodded, leaning over the backseat. "Leave and never return." 

In that moment, I couldn't help but laugh. Were they serious? They wanted me to leave just so they wouldn't have to prove to me that they weren't vampires? This time, I did turn around, looking at Paul once, then Dwayne and finally turning back to David.

"Are you fucking serious?" I asked, incredulously. " You honestly expect me to pick up and leave town without a word, all because some supposed, teenage vampires tell me to?"

Their faces were serious and it only fueled my laughter even further. By this point, even Dolly was uncomfortable as she leaned over the back seat and placed a warm hand on my arm.

"James," she pleaded, her voice soft. "You better listen to them."

I shook my head, "Fuck Doll, if I had known that _this _was what we were dealing with this whole time, I would have played things out much differently."

As I turned back to David, I felt a hand reach out and grab at my throat. The laughter was cut off in an instant as my eyes bulged and my hands reached up, attempting to break the hold that had suddenly crushed down upon my neck. It was heartbeat later, that I realized the worst was yet to come.

I never understood what made me so addicted to drugs in my earlier years. Whether it was from the need to escape reality or the fact that I've never had a bad experience on hardly any of them. With acid, maybe, but never, ever with weed. That night in the cave, the one where Paul's face had become twisted and deformed was the only time I've ever actually been terrified during a trip. 

Of course, after coming down I knew that none of it was real and probably fueled by the spooky atmosphere and the talk of vampires. 

Looking back, I wish I had been right.

David's face was, in all appearances, demonic. The same as Paul's had been with high-rising cheekbones, wide, yellow eyes and lips that curled back to display not one, but two sets of fangs whose purpose I could only start to imagine before I was jerked across the seat, head forced back so that my neck was exposed and a sudden, white hot pain erupting through my body with the first bite. 

In the movies, the bite is never painful. Vampires are always these weeping creatures who feel so much guilt over taking human lives, that they never want to hurt them while in the process of doing it. I wished I was in one of those movies right now, unable to feel the needles dragging across my skin with each, agonizing pull to my veins when David sipped. I wish there was silence and only the dramatic organ playing in the background instead of Dolly screaming and struggling in Paul's arms. 

I wish I had believed in vampires in the first place. And that this never would have happened.

What was only about three minutes seemed to span into an eternity before David released my neck from the grip of those fangs and allowed me to breathe once more. My body was falling in and out of shock as I gasped for air and tried not to look at anything else inside the car. 

Vampires. All of them.

I had convinced myself of the opposite this afternoon and now, looking back, I never felt so stupid in all my life. 

David's hand returned to it's place on my throat, allowing little time for recovery as he turned my face back to his own. It was normal now, though the splatters of red blood were illuminated against his lips and chin. 

"Now, do we have a deal?" he asked.

I couldn't seem to catch my breath as I stared into his eyes, gasping and trying to form some kind of response. Eventually, I managed to nod my head, but the question was already surfacing in my mind.

David seemed to sense this and sneered. "Too many people would be affected by your death. There'd be an investigation, conspiracy theories from your little band of worshipers and nothing that we need to deal with. So you're going to bring me the story, the journal, and disappear into the night. Got it?"

I nodded again, though couldn't help but glance back at Dolly. Her eyes met mine for a moment, but quickly looked away. For some reason… she seemed stranger than usual. 

Though before I could regain enough consciousness to ask, the doors were opening and I was promptly shoved out. With his hand at the back of my neck, David proceeded to lead me into the house itself and stand in front of the doorway while Paul and Dwayne took up spots at the window. Not that I had any real plan of escape, but it made the walls seem to close in on the room itself as I staggered across the living room, into the mute hallway and to my mangled bedroom. 

I knew why they hadn't been able to retrieve it from before. I may have been a slob but I was an organized slob who knew where everything was at every given time. The journal had carefully hidden away beneath my bed and it was the first thing I retrieved and brought out to David.

By this time, I'd returned from the nightmare enough to allow a bit of snide in my voice. "Like I could have read it anyway, nothing but lousy penmanship."

David took the book and seemed to consider my remark before giving that same, chastising smirk. Glaring, I turned and made my way back into my room, my heart suddenly heavy as I retrieved the packet of information and the unfinished story.

All those hours spent, the risks Dolly and I had put ourselves in, the snide remarks from Kinsely and the hundreds of fans that would be let down. 

I sighed and stood up, though not before turning sharply at the sudden presence that stood in the doorway.

Dolly. 

Looking slightly rumpled, flustered and still, sexy as all hell. Her eyes fell to the packet in my hands and then up to me.

"It's for the best, James," she said, though I could hear a note of sadness in her voice.

I shook my head. "I just wish I could have finished it. Given it an ending, you know? Then maybe it would be easier to say goodbye to."

Her mouth opened to respond though was immediately interrupted by the curly-haired boy that came up from behind. I hadn't really studied him much in the car, though he reminded me somewhat of Dorian in the Picture of Dorian Gray. Young, attractive with an air of innocence about him that was tainted, just as it was glorified. 

He grinned at me, holding out his hand for the package in mind and with only a moment's hesitation, I gave it to him. 

There, it was done.

As though a curse had been lifted from my wilting shoulders, I watched as he moved away. In some ways, I should have been happy. After all, I vampires were the least favorite of all my supernatural monsters and I never wanted to be apart of this story anyway. 

But like Dolly, it had grown on me.

"Where will you go?" she asked, suddenly.

I shook my head. "I don't know… as far as my truck will get me, I guess." I looked up. "And what do you mean, aren't you…"

My words fell off as I stared at her face. As before, she seemed different. More withdrawn than the fiery girl I had gotten to know of these past few days. The woman who was all for this story and would rather take a bullet to her kneecap or go head to head with vampires, than let it fail. Why was she suddenly so cold?

"Dolly?"

"James, I'm sorry. I'm really, _really _sorry," she said, looking into my eyes.

"Doll, what do you---"

"I never intended for it to go this far between us. I only wanted to become immortal, I didn't want to fall in love or lead you on in anyway. It just… kind of happened."

I couldn't seem to wrap my mind around what she was saying. "Dolly, what the hell are you talking about?"

Before she could answer, there was a sudden shadow in the doorway. David, smirking as he came up from behind and wrapped an arm around her, to which she recoiled only slightly.

"I think you've earned immortality, Doll. Are you sure you won't change your mind about taking him as your first?" he asked with another sneer. "His blood's not all that bad."

It was then I realized, though it tore out my heart and slammed it against the glass, covered ground, Dolly---my Dolly---had been working for David the entire time.


	29. Don't Turn Around

There's a lot to be said about knowing a person. True, I didn't know Dolly for very long, but I was generally under the notion that this entire time, we'd both been honest with each other and on level ground. She was the apprentice journalist, I was the master and together we would become rich, famous, better looking and have a cult-base of worshiping fans at our disposal.

I didn't want to feel let down, but I was.

Extremely.

"So… this whole time…working for Kinsely, on our story…" I couldn't find the words to express what I felt. But in a sense, I was almost relieved. I had stumbled around Dolly, waiting for the roof to cave in and it finally had. The weight was finally off my shoulders.

"Well, not on our story, James. I was only suppose to get in, see if I could find any incriminating files on David and the others and get out. I honestly didn't intend for all this to happen," she said, her voice soft and methodical. "I'm so sorry."

I felt the anger rising. The rage I had felt with David welling in my heart, but I couldn't bring up, into my voice.

"I am too," I said, a hint of sorrow in my tone. "All this time.. I was writing the story for your perspective as well as mine. I thought I had gotten it right but it looks like I was dead off on everything."

I waited until her eyes looked up and into mine.

"I thought I knew you."

David rolled his eyes. By this time, the rest of demented crew had showed up and stood in the doorway, idly watching the conversation between me and Dolly, each with confused looks on their faces.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. So what the fuck David, she was with you this entire time?" Paul asked, an angry scowl coming to his face.

David grinned and wrapped an arm around Dolly's shoulders, hugging the flinching girl close. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was left in the dark when it came to this little arrangement.

Pun intended, of course.

"What the fuck! You fucking forced me to stay in the cave for three fucking days just so you didn't have to admit you were having some fucking tail on the side? That's low, man!" snarled Paul as he stormed past his leader and back out into the living room.

Dwayne looked equally pissed, eyes glancing from Dolly to David and finally to me before he too, took off for the living room, breaking things as he passed. The only one who didn't seemed fazed was the golden-haired kid who was smirking and leaning back against the doorframe, watching his comrades in amusement as they likely started taking their anger out on my furniture and valuables.

"Jesus, you'd think they'd figure it out after awhile," David muttered as the arm released Dolly and he moved out for the living room, still displaying that scalding smirk.

Dolly made no movement to follow. Her eyes were still glued to the floor but slowly starting to track their way back up to mine. I guess I should have been happy in some sense. She could have told me nothing and I would have found out the hard way or no at all. At least, in the end, there was honesty, but it still felt like the cold bite of a vampire, straight in my heart.

I couldn't resist one last snap, to save some meager part of my dignity. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't finish this story. Your future as a writer would be looking pretty shit by this point."

And with that, I turned away and Dolly walked out the door.

* * *

Lone City.

2:50 a.m.

I didn't count the hours when I was driving so it might have been anywhere from two to six by the time I reached the shitty hotel in a dumpy town that I had never heard of before. The weight of the world was on my shoulders as I stood, slumped, at the front desk, eyes glazed and fingers tapping the desk anxiously for the hefty woman to return with my credit card recite and the key.

Watching her step back out from the dingy, neon office, I watched the way the floral print of her hideous nightgown, moved with each staggering step. She was half-sober, half-sane and I trusted this woman and her hotel, in a sense, with my life.

The room itself was fairly decent. Organized in sections, there was a single bed in the middle of the cubic floor, a carpet beneath it stretching out just enough so that bare feet wouldn't have to touch the frigid, wooden floor before finding one's slippers. The ancient tv was set upon a dresser, three channels with semi-clear reception, if one caressed the antenna's just right. There was a second dresser to my left, a desk to my right with a small lamp. A bathroom, a single bar of soap set atop a stack of towels and washcloths and a hideous print of the same floral design the woman was wearing outside, stretching around the top of the walls.

For the moment, it was my new home.

I could only imagine what had happened after I took off back in Santa Carla. Likely they started my house on fire, maybe threw in a body like they had with Paul's home and the police were so goddamn lazy, they would believe it was me.

Then again, I wasn't going to play along with their whole "James is dead" scheme by shredding up every form of ID I had and starting over with an assumed name, different haircut, plastic surgery---

Christ!

What the hell did they really expect me to do?

I succumbed to numbness for most of the trip through the desert and into the blinking night. As though his example in the car weren't enough, David and the rest of the boys had given me a "farewell scare" all the way back to my truck at the police station.

Nothing like running through alleyways with the sound of wings and bat-screams at your back to cut down on a few carobs.

Despite this, the reality of my situation began to set in and each passing moment I sat on the bed, watching the blurry images on the television and going over the events in my mind, the more I began to loose my self control.

Ten years I was a journalist in Santa Carla. I had respectable pay, a respectable job, a respectable home and---well, I guess one advantage was that I no longer had to answer to Kinsely. And if I knew the man as I did, he would likely send out either a search party or a mob hit, depending on the mood he was in when he heard the news of my skipping town.

I could only hope the rat bastard the best now that I was gone and Molly, if she wasn't already a vampire, was the next best thing he could get to a real writer. Or if nothing else, a photographer.

Thinking of Dolly caused an image of the woman to appear in my mind. The night that we'd dressed up, attempting to lure the vampires into a conversation and a couple of pictures. She'd been so beautiful in her see-through mesh shirt and black corset. Brown eyes full of mischief gazing out from the dark curls that fell around her daunting cheeks---

The sound of the fist slamming against the door was enough to wake me from my fantasy. My eyes were strangely sore and watery--probably from the smell of smoke that was imbedded within the supposedly clean, white sheets.

Walking up to the door, I stared through the scratched eyehole and was able to make out the same floral print dress that had so disturbed me at the beginning of the night. With a sigh, I opened the door to the large woman with the sour-face, thrusting a package into my hands without so much as single word.

I watched in silence as she staggered her way back down the hall before closing my door and moving to sit back upon my bed. The package was heavy and had I been in my right mind, I would have known instantly what it was. Being exhausted with depression and numbness, however, I turned the object over and over in my hands before finally locating the flap and tearing it open.

Out fell my story, typed sheets of paper fluttering to the ground along with several pictures, the tape recorder and the police record that we stole.

My reaction was delayed as a cool sensation traveled through my body, causing hairs to rise up on end while my hands shook and my eyes blinked over and over, expecting the mess to suddenly vanish and simply be gone.

While part of me wanted to leap up in joy, the other part knew that there was only one way that my story could have gotten back to me.

Standing up, I set the folder aside. And after a couple of deep breaths with my eyes closed….

….I turned around.


	30. If It Wasn't True

_New York City, Upper East Side. 2007._

"It's a really interesting read, Jim. I like the fact that the monsters are never really seen or described in vivid detail. It leaves a lot for the imagination to sum up and gives the reader a little more freedom. Have to say I was disappointed with the ending though. Would have been interesting to see who was standing there, waiting for poor James when he turned around."

The foggy scent of cloves was in the air. Snow had been falling for the past hour and the noise from the constant rustle and bustle traffic had died down to nothing more than a soft murr. While the stars were all hidden behind a blanket of gray clouds, the evening businesses which mostly consisted of vapid nightclubs, strip-houses, casino's and other adult playgrounds were all illuminated in vibrant, neon lights. Attracting their human prey like moths to the ever growing flame.

Ted sat back, comfortable in his chair with a glass of cognac in his hand while the other produced the copy of Macabre Monthly, setting it down upon the decorative glass coffee table. In fact, everything in this flat was decorative from the various paintings and artwork that was mounted upon the wall, to lavish of furniture, rugs and even the coasters that were set out to catch the rim of his glass should he feel the need to set it down. And while most of the items held a spark of the old love for old, romantic Goth-era, there were a number of sixties posters and psychedelic paintings and scripture, lying hidden around the room, seen only by the knowing eye.

And he should know, it was the era he'd been raised in, after all.

Though, for the fact that the young couple collected so much of it, was something of a mystery that seemed to circle about them like the wisps of smoke that parted those lush, pale lips of his deceiving friend.

Jim (there seemed to be no last name) was a man in either his late twenties or very early thirties, blonde hair falling in a purposely disorganized manner around his smooth face and sharp, incriminating eyes that always seemed to be laughing at some private joke Ted couldn't comprehend.

Such as, right now.

"Well, as you said, I think it leaves a lot for the imagination to figure out and maybe this James didn't really want anyone to know how the story ended. Maybe it was a tragic ending," said Jim.

Ted smirked and shrugged his shoulders, watching the man take another long hit from his cigarette and blow the smoke unconsciously into the air.

"Well, even if it was, he managed to get it out and back to his manager--err, Kinsely, I guess his name was. But you're right, it leaves the imagination to ponder and journalists everywhere to scorn. Honestly, it wasn't the most thrilling read I've had but it sure kept me entertained," Ted laughed as he took another drink from the prized cognac.

The liquid burned instantly as it met with his tongue and produced a slow, drowsy affect as it lingered against the back of his throat, soothing it's way down and into his stomach.

"Maybe he became a vampire," he mused, jokingly.

For a single moment, the look on Jim's face seemed to twist and become dead serious, as though he hadn't been expecting to hear Ted say such a thing about a character who had supposedly existed once upon a time. Honestly, he didn't know what the fuss was all about. While he was a collector of old things dealing with the Macabre and vampires, the magazine hardly made the grade in terms of quality and value. The writing seemed half-assed at times and the pictures weren't of the greatest quality, even for the eighties. It would still have been easy to manipulate them.

Still, he had read it on the instance of Jim and it was amusing, even somewhat frightening at times when the lights flickered in his house and he heard things rustling outside his door. Teenage vampires with uncontrollable thirsts for sex, blood and chaos in general.

Bloody Hell, it no wonder people did drugs in the eighties.

The look on Jim's face was gone as quickly as it came, relaxing back into that self-assured stare.

"Well, I guess it's plausible. It was the Magazine's last issue," he said.

Ted blinked. "Really?"

Jim nodded. "Yea. After it was printed and sold, the publishing office was burnt down and the magazine promptly died. Kinsely reportedly hung himself in his own home."

The new information sent a shockwave through Ted as he considered what he was hearing. Kinsely had been a real person? A real man? And if that was true… then James and Dolly and the entire vampire gang…

"Are you boys still talking about vampires, out here?"

The voice was enough to shake him from his speculation as head lifted and glasses adjusted to the petite form that came to stand behind Jim, resting delicate hands on his shoulders.

The woman could have been a supermodel and most likely was with soft, brown eyes matched only by the deep, auburn hair that fell around her face and slender shoulders in effortless waves. She had a body that most women would kill for and the same pale, smooth skin that Jim had, contrasting highly to her clothing and the makeup she dawned upon her face and sensual lips.

Together, they made a truly magnificent couple and Ted couldn't help but feel the brittle sting of jealousy. Back home, _his wife _was sitting around in her bathrobe, watching Tyra and feeding the dog all kinds of things which would get it sick and get Ted up in the middle of the night to clean up after it.

Downing his drink and rising with a smile, he shook his head.

"Actually, I was just about to leave. Jim, all I can really say is that I enjoyed it---it was a fun read. But as far as an actual lead into the mystery of vampires…" a shrug. "Well, I'm not certain it's what I'm looking for."

He'd expected that sour look again, but instead, Jim only laughed.

His wife smiled and shook her head. "You see, James, I told you he wouldn't understand. No one does."

The laughter subsided and an arm reached up to trace gently along her own.

"I know Doll," he said.

It was rather embarrassing, for it took him a full minute to grasp the significance of the names and by that time…

… well, they couldn't print it if it wasn't true.

**End.**

* * *

_Wow, I have to admit, this story was one of my longer ones and took a lot out of me after awhile. The ending seems a little abrupt but I'm satisfied with it. Again, I want to thank everyone who reviewed my story, your comments really helped keep me on track. My next story is likely going to be about Star and her origins and I should be starting it pretty soon so keep an eye open for it. _

_Thanks again!_


End file.
